On Top Of Old Smokey, All Covered With Peabs.
I was attending a levo alphacetylmethadol party last evening with my fellow base crazies and getting a nice cock-swabbing from my Aunt Nora when who should appear before my eyes? You guessed it: Alex Kapranos! He was totally mo'ed out on penis and crank and appeared to have a hot load of jazzum dripping from his Scottish Lipps, Inc. She effing mars. Peabs felt it necessary to approach the vastly mediocre musician and speak complete gibberish to him, because quite frankly, I'm the President of the United fucking States of America and I can do whatevs I want. For instance, if I wanted to snort some Bolivian marching powder and ride a giant tortoise into the eye of Peter North, I could do so. If Peabs wanted to dress up like Martin Luther and nail a copy of "Ninety-Five Theses" onto the door of the Church of Latter Day Saints and scream "Brandon Flowers sent me!", you wouldn't be able to fucking stop me. It's quite obvs that Peabs is not just another pretty face (ass, cock, torso; the whole fucking package, really); I am also invincible. Bovs on your effing bloody tampon, Raggedy Anne! Boo-jah!
Now let's be shmearious here, folks: Dr. Bill Cosby loves to do a little uterus-diving when coked out of his brizz. Bovs, who doesn't? Howevs, lately, it's all the man's been talking about! Whilst Peabs doesn't believe that sexual and narcotic abuse can lead to a definitive "problem", Coz needs to realize that, because we are now even more important figures in world culture than ever before, we can do anything we want. Don't get Peabs wrong; I love me a little munchie munch on the snatcharoo just as much as the next guy, but I have other hobbies; you know, like smearing honey oil on my gizzard and spelunking in K-holes. That, my friends, is what made you elect me as President. I'm a well-rounded individual. Schmobvs.
So with that, I decided to stage a rather personal intervention of William Cosby, with hopes to show him that there's more to life than eating box lunch at the Y, all covered in mulva pulp. Mars. And who better to assist Peabs in such an intervention than OMC? You may remember OMC from such hits as "How Bizarre" and "How Bizarre 2: Even More Bizarrer". What few of you know is that he, like Coz, had become so fixated with chowing down on Georgia O'Keefe's inspiration, that he nearly forgot about the finer things in life. Obvs.
To say that the mediation went well is an understatement. Soon enough, Coz was begging yours effing truly for a hit of methylenedioxymethamphetamine, and began a new fascination: couch bombing. Peabs will warn you now; if you plan to attend my holiday party at my La Jolla abode, don't sit on the Portofino in the living room of the east wing. More fucking jazz on those cushions than a Victoria Givens anal gangbang. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?
"Yoooooooooooou've gots to know that the flazzum is really the jizzum jazzum!"
Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!