Sex Gifts For Australian Businessmen.
Last night, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly decided to sauté our pretty bodies in tryptophan-laced Benadryl, huff some ether and refer to each other as Jennie-O. It was a wonderful distraction from our difficult everyday lives of politics-by-way-of-coke-snorting-and-anal-gangbangs. Schmobvs. Peabs highly suggests that the next time you get your filthy fucking paws on some tigs (CH3CH2)2O, you should dress up as Richard Branson, hire a mongoloid with three vaginas and build a treehouse out of popsicle sticks. It's both invigorating and asinine, but then again, so is my existence. She mars on your fucking handle-bar moustache, Rollie Fingers! Gobble!
In midst of last evening's shenanigans, Coz thought it would be a fabulous idea to challenge fellow Presidential candidate Ralph Nader to a debate. While Peabs may have skipped out on last week's debates, I felt it was certainly more important to go skiing with the fucking douchenozzle star of "Airwolf" than clown the two front-runners. I mean, shmears. Dubya is a sorry excuse for a cokehead, and quite frankly, he's not very effing bright. And Kerry? Well, while he and I have agreed on many things, the fact that Peabs sodomized his wife with a billygoat and fucked her unconscious, trembling body in a vat of ketchup hasn't exactly made us compadres. Duhvs. So hogsviously Peabs would've embarrassed the two handjobs, and it was only fair of me not to participate. Nader, on the other hand, is a different story. We have a pretty effing sordid past.
Cosby and Nader used to be prominent figures in the east coast underground religious swingers movement from 1971 to 1998. In fact, they were actually close friends and collaborated on many "projects", including the infamous "Cocaine and Able" jawn of 1997. It was during this particular production that Coz and Nader had their falling out, and Peabs played a significant part in the process. You see, Coz felt it was necessary to bring in a "freelance gigolo" to play the part of Cocaine, and who better to do so than yours effing truly? Apparently, Nader did not take too kindly to this; it was pretty fucking bovs that he was intimidated by my gargantuan D™, let alone my passion for acting. Lest we forget the fact that I fingerfucked his grandmother while jerking off into her Frosted Flakes, moaning:
"You like the way Tony jazzes in your fucking cereal, Mildred? Huh? Call me tiger, you fucking slut. Grrrrrrrrrr."
Needless to say, since then, there has been an unbridled rivalry between Ralph and myself, and I think that a debate between the two of us would do wonders for our approval ratings. Bovs.
Although, my ratings can't possibly get much higher. Why? Because you simply fucking love Peabs. Let's face it, America. I would be the son of God if I weren't God already. My urine would cure cancer if it weren't tainted with mali. My vomit was once sculpted to form an even more meticulous and detailed version of Michelangelo's David, and sold as a dildo to a banker from Sydney. Obvs.
Peabs is a fucking phenomenon. A cultural icon. Your 44th President. Shmears. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more