Pardon Me, But Do You Have Any Gay Poupon?

Shmears. Being President-elect has quite a few perks. This last week, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly took full advantage of being the leaders of the Free World by participating in acts abnormal to the common man. Whilst it has always been rather easy for Peabs to score a number of illegal narcotics, the ability to regularly obtain some tigs shats to the boombies ketamine has haunted me like my HIV-positive Filipino baby's mama. Bovs. For the record, I do not claim Zing-Zang to be my son; howevs, he keeps me in good opium and his sister Christian has a vagina that makes Marie Osmond look like Adrian Zmed on the raggie rag. Bovs on your motorin' tees, Night Ranger.

Anyway, many people from my past have been coming out of the woodwork since my recent election into office, one of which is former baseball great Gaylord Perry. For those of you unaware, Perry retired from baseball and decided to pursue his lifelong dream of being the head of the American Veterinary Medical Association (AVMA). Some experts say it was because of his undying love of animals, but Peabs hogsviously knows the real truth - that motherfucker loves his special K. In fact, when I used to be a relief pitcher for the San Diego Padres in 1978, Perry was the ace of our staff and once claimed to Peabs in confidence that he had been in a K-hole since he won the Cy Young award in '74. Coincidentally, Peabs was also (and still is, snatch) very much into horse tranquilizers and their dissociative effect, and I told Gaylord that Peabs would one day be President and need his help scoring some jet. My old friend certainly did not disappoint. Schmobvs.

Upon order, Cosby instructed Perry to meet us at one of our many clandestine Obvs in '04™ Campaign meth labs in the Midwest. Little did Peabs know that Gaylord was quasi-dating assfucking Olympic swimmer Amanda Beard, a long-time supporter of my campaign. Obvs, Ms. Beard and yours effing truly had a bit of a "fling" back in '96 - and by "fling" I really mean that I used to give her a wicked case of swimmer's ear... with my fucking jazz. Lest we forget she rather enjoyed it when I dressed up like Eeyore and cornrowed her pubes with my ooh-jah. Spobvs.

Be that as it may, we all decided to blow an assload of K and enter a little mellow, colorful wonder world we like to call the planet She-Mars. Scott Bakula was our host, while Cosby razzle-dazzled his way into every unsuspecting She-Martians' hearts. Beard asked Perry if he "had any Gay Poupon", which prompted him to shoot hot load on her effing mizz. Personally, I bovsed on the respective aliens' tees while Bakula tongued my A, forgiving himself for Necessary Roughness.

Peabs thought it was Hector Elizondo who was the weak part of that particular motion picture, but that's neither here nor there. What about you, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"I think that the flazzum rozzle was caused by the Harley Jane Kozak raffle waffle!

Obvs. How could I forget Harley Jane? She still to this day is the only woman who wanted to assfuck me for breakfast. Which is ironic, considering the fact that I am a turkey and have no ass. But I do have a gigantic gizzard. And by gizzard, I really mean cock. And by cock I really mean D™. You get the picture. Suck it. Gobble!

Oh, so you were growing a little impatient while Peabs was away on my first Presidential tour? Your life was completely useless and banal without an update on the antics of all that which is Peabs? Well, get used to it, my lovelies. I know full well that I am comparable to your first line of blow, your first rimjob; but have some fucking restraint, you effing handjobs. Don't you fritter or fret - I'm here for you. I'll jerk off in your mouth and make you call me Listerine® if I have to. I'll dress up in custom-made Theory diapers, shit myself and make you clean up my soiled drawers with a rotiserrie oven. In short, Peabs is not just your President; I am also your priest, your God, and your life. Mars she all over your Ken Caminiti.

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!