The Unbearable Likeness of Peabs.
Miss me? Shmears. You needn't answer such an asinine question. Your lives are clearly boring without me. Peabs is just that fucking fascinating.
Peabs knows what you're thinking:
"But Peabs, you said you were only going to be gone for a 'week or so,' and here you are a month later, even prettier and seemingly more methed out than when you left us."
Really, honestly, I'm fucking touched. And I don't mean touched in that "Daddy touched me there and proceeded to give me a wicked hummer at age 7" sort of way. Though, oddly, they are similar. Bovs.
So I lied. So Peabs was gone for a month or so. Big effing dizz. Politicians lie; duhvs, I am most certainly a lying politician. With a remarkable ass and testicles like a fucking donkey on Levitra®. Gobble!
It appears as though much has happened in my absence (Janet Leigh died? Slut.), and I somewhat apologize for my hiatus. I assure you, my lovely followers, an absence of this magnitude shan't occur again. Dr. Bill Cosby once said "if you can't razzle them with your dazzle, flizzum them with your flazzum."
And that is what Peabs is here to do: Flizzum you with my flazzum. That, and talk about myself. Duh.
You may be wondering where the fuck yours effing truly and Coz have been. And rightfully so. Well, it's no secret that the Obvs in '04™ Campaign had been losing ground, so it was clear that Peabs had to do one of two things: freebase crank and ski the Swiss Alps with Cosby and Jan Michael Vincent, or raise more money for my presidential campaign and prepare for the debates. It's pretty obvs, considering my absence from said debates, Peabs chose the former. So what was said to be "a week or so" turned into approximately a month. Hey, you try smoking a cockload of angel dust with motherfucking Stringfellow Hawk and tell me you don't lose track of time, you fucking handjobs. Shmears on your effing lab-maj.
For those of you who are unaware, Peabs met Vincent in Somalia in the early '70's. You see, I didn't always live this glamorous, charmed lifestyle. Sure, I'm fucking loaded and my mother was a crackwhore, so Peabs was high and rich from the time of my birth. Howevs, I blew most of my trust-fund up my nose before the age of... well... that's not important. Needless to say, when I was offered the job as court jester to an Isaaq clan-family in northern Somalia, I jumped at it. Sure, they offered me "all the horse in the Eastern hemisphere", but I still wonder to this day if it was worth it. As fucked up as I am in the head, I didn't think I would have to dress up like an effing dildo, cover myself in mint jelly and insert my quasi "cock-body" into Shaykh Daarood Jabarti's vault (which he had conveniently fashioned into a giant vaggie-vag, clit-ring and all). I kid you not: it drove me to heroin. Schmobvs.
Jan Michael Vincent happened to be the clan-family's skag dealer, and we became fast friends. We ass-fucked local prostitutes and compared Ernest Borgnine stories; did you know that an 11-year-old Jan acted as fluffer to Ernie on the set of Marty? Obvs you didn't. I just made that up. Suck my fucking cock.
Frankly, I have no idea where Peabs is going with this, so I'll just say it's good to be back. With the election just around the corner, Peabs is going to need all of the support I can get. And by support, I mean it would be fucking tigs shats to the boombies if you fed me some mescaline, tossed my fucking salad, and beat me off into your childhood jizz bib of reminiscence, you fucking SIDS-ridden whore. Don't forget to milk the prostate, cowgirl. Oohjah!
Back on the campaign trail tomorrow, lovers. Until then, bovs on Cosby's effing tees.
"Yooooooooou've gots to bovs on my bazzle! Fazzle shazzle mozzle-tov!"
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose(like a you or