So Sayeth The Peabs

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Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Basking In The Glow Of My Sack On Your Mizz.

Yooooou have to squeeze the flazzum, just like this!  Flizzum!
I was teabagging W.C. Fields the other day when he quipped something rather brills:

"After you finish scraping my barnacles, we should go to the Sierra Mazateca region of Oaxaca, Mexico, do some bongrips of Salvia Divinorum and have a gay cereal party! Fruit Loops for everyone!"

Of all of the ridiculously poignant things Fields has said in his life, this seemed the most boviously pertinent. Well, besides the time Dr. Bill Cosby was massaging his prostate, prompting the dead actor to say:

"I used to milk cows like this in Iowa with Tony Danza!"

She mars.

You'll have to pardon your President today, for I believe that my morning vodka giblet has been invaded by some georgia home boy, no thanks to Coz. Maybe it's because of our recent primo smack hookup, but Cosby's been extremely gay as of late. And not so much in that "Coz likes to jack off in cabana boys' faces while he watches Cum Sucking She-Males 4" sort of way. Moreso in that "Peabs will suddenly lose consciousness, most likely due to a speedball overdose, and come to with Cosby having a three-way suck-n-fuck-fest with Waldorf and Statler from 'The Muppet Show'" sort of way. Robvs.
Gayer than you are.
Which, to be quite honest, Peabs doesn't mind. I'm the fucking leader of the god damn free world, so I can pretty much do whatevs I want. Case in point, last evening Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly decided to start Thanksgiving a little early, and invited our new good friend Steve Rubell over to my spacious brownstone for some turkey - gobble, gobble! - and handjobs. I suggested we call some prostitutes saucy minxes in order to liven things up, but Coz felt otherwise. My running mate was so effing smacked out of his head that he thought he was Asian and continually asked me to "flazzum his ooh-jah" with Rubell's "falafel waffle." Who am I to say no to Cosby? Mars she on your effing Warren G. Regulators, mount up!

Needless to say, the evening started to get a little too homoerotic, even for Peabs. But instead of adding a little estrogen to the action, I opted to start busting rhymes as D.J. Orange Julius, my homo-rap alter ego:

Go spelunkin' in your ass-cheeks, I'm an explorer/
I wear more mascara than Rocky Horror/
so I'll give you DJ OJ's picture show/
starring a truckload of homos and a pound of blow.

All y'all dudes want to fuck my A/
there ain't a hotter cocksucker than DJ OJ/
I'm like Kid 'n Play, but I ain't hetero/
I'd rather toss a fag's salad than fuck a ghetto 'ho, yo.

Yo, I'm about to started/
I'll fuck you so hard, I'll make you retarded/
like a mongoloid, I'm down with your syndrome/
take a polaroid of you fuckin' me with a comb/
but if you got an afro pick/
just suck this dick/
'cause I'm hotter than a plate of effing Pad Prik.

Lunch.
I swear, nothing gets a party hotter than gay flow, yo. Well, except maybe a QP of dimethyltryptamine, my D™ blowing a hot lizz down your sister's esoph and some smooth jazz. And by smooth jazz I mean Sade, not my man-juice, you fucking perverts. Bovs on your effing foreskins, you uncircumcised cockfaces. Boo-jah!

You oh so very much want to be Peabs. Duh. No shame in wanting to be gorgeous and brilliant and hung like the Redwood Forest. Lest we forget that, to the gulf stream waters, this land was made for you and Peabs.

I'm fucking ridiculous. Obvs.

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

1 Comments:

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