Not By My Nuts On Your Chinny-Chin-Chin!

You will all Rodney Roo the fucking day you don't let Peabs honey smacks my effing D™ across your pretty face, you fatherless cockwhoring slooty-sloots! Shmear my cream cheese across your upper lip and I'll be your Einstein, bitch! Ratzo!

I was getting a mustache ride from a meth-fueled John Stossel the other night when Peabs realized that I had not seen my Vice President, Dr. Bill Cosby, in almost 48 hours. And this is rather rare considering the fact that on weeknights, Coz and yours effing truly usually spend our time secluded in a twelve million square foot bathroom made of mirrors, blowing rails of baby laxative and special K and referring to each other as different breakfast cereal personas. Believe Peabs when I say that there ain't a more euphoric feeling than having an eight-ball up every possible orifice and being called Tony The Tiger. It's grrrrrrrrrrreat! MUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Shmears, are you effing SIDS? There's at least four things that feel slightly better than that; mind you, three of four include the aforementioned cocaine and mustache ride. And that fourth... well, we'll just go ahead and let your imagination run wild, you fucking perverts. Mars she all over your effing aristocracy, King John! Call me Baron von Peabs and shove my Magna Carta up your motally moo ooh-jah boo radley roo! Obvs.

Oh wait, there's Coz! Where you been, my beautiful Black friend?

"Meeeeeee and Dizzee Rascal bozzled some mushrooooooooms and razzle dazzled Hume Cronyn's scrotum rotum! Flazzum!"

And I thought my little "fling" with Stossel was dirty! She fucking mars all over your WWF™ Superstars. Peabs is going to have to up the salad tossing quotient tenfold and then some. Or perhaps just get Coz into the mix a little more. Duhvs. Hey, Coz, I'm fearing that the site is becoming too tame, especially compared to your recent shenanigans with Dizzee Rascal. Can you maybe help Peabs out and make SSTP (dude, who fucking links to themselves? Fucking Peabs, that's who, you effing handjob.) disrespectable (??) again?

"Yooooooou've gots to know that I tosseled Stossel's falafel with a flizzum jizzum Geo Prizm!"

Rodney Roo agrees. I'm such a fucking genius. Gorgeous, too. Schmobvs.

Obvs in '05™.

Inevitably, You Would Prefer To Hummy-Hum My Hot Cockadoodledobvs.

This is not the greatest post in the world. This is just a tribute. Bovs.

There are few men who have caused Peabs to ever feel the affliction of penis envy (I'm looking in your direction William Randolph Hearst, you sassy cocksman!), and the recently deceased Johnny Carson certainly was not one of them. Not to sound crass (because, she effing mars, Peabs is never fucking crass; eloquent, sure...), but the aforementioned Carson was admittedly a mantastic talk-show host, a pioneer, if you will. And you will. Because I effing told you to, you fucking mo-mo buttfucks! Ratzo Rizzo!

Be that as it may, Johnny wasn't exactly "packing heat" in the area of all that which defines manhood, especially when compared to yours effing truly, or Dr. Bill Cosby for that matter. I know this may be in poor taste to speak ill of a man's cock size when he has recently passed; howevs, Peabs assures you that it doesn't taste nearly as poor as the queefing vaggie vag of your Aunt Mabel. Or your underage sister. Fucking slutbag whores. I bet you love the way Peabs teases you with my Presidential D™ and then denies your advances because your filthy snatches reek of fish oil and fried ooh-jah! Boo-jah! I'm on cocaine right now. Right now... it means everything. She mars all over your Sammy Hagars!

But shmeariously, folks...

When Rodney Roo came to Peabs and told me the news of Carson's passing, I was rather crushed. For those of you who didn't know, I made my first television appearance on "The Tonight Show" in 1979; with help from Coz, hogsviously, since he was once a guest host. Needless to say it went well, despite the fact that beforehand I had ingested sixteen tablets of dextropropoxyphene and huffed an entire paint can of ether. Schmobvs.

Below is an excerpt of our interview, in homage of the great man that was Johnny Carson. Any man that can put up with a toddler-aged Peabs, high on potent oral analgesics, is a genius in my extremely humble opinion. And by extremely humble, I mean I'm fucking GOD. Totally motally.


Carson: You're rather attractive and well-spoken for a two-year old, Peabs.

Peabs: I just shit my pants.

Ed McMahon: Yes!

Carson: Do you attribute your success to your affiliation with Bill Cosby?

Peabs: I feel like I'm getting sucked off by a toothless crackwhore, Johnny. You hear me? I'm a turkey! Gobble, gobble! Right, Coz?

Bill Cosby: Dizzee Rascal is really Alfalfa spelunk-a-dunkin' his wooden mops on his J-E-L-L-O puddin' pops!


We'll miss you, Johnny. Obvs in '05™.

She Fucking Mars.

Bovs.

Obvs in '05™.

The Following Post Is Brought To You By The Letters "L", "S", and "D."

Hi!!! I'm Peabs!!! I'm the President!!!

It's nice to see that you care, America. Almost as nice as it is to get your scrotum suckled upon by a junkie slutbag with scabies all over her boombalats. Almost. I mean, mars, people! Few things beat the whole burning sensation one's testes acquire after teabagging Bilbo Baggins with some eggnog raggin flaggins. Duh.

Fuck. Peabs is starting to talk like Dr. Bill Cosby. I attribute a bit of this to my massive consumption of speedballs and Corn Flakes® this past weekend. And no, my lovelies, I did not eat the aforementioned Corn Flakes®. You don't even want to fucking know what Peabs did with them. Let's just say it makes Lewis and Clark look like effing mo-mo smack-em yack-ems, even when balls deep in my Sacajawea. Pronto! Dude, SHMEARS.

Wanna tonguey-tongue my hot anus, you sassy bitch? Bovs you do. You can't handle an hour without my man-sauce marinating your gizzard like a turkey jazzing on my spanklet. Gobble gobble, dildos! If you think you look good in black, Ms. Jazz, imagine what Ratzo Rizzo looks like post-bukkake cassorole bakeoff! Macedonia!

What's that? Peabs is crazed?

Hardly.

Mind you, I have gone down on both Thelonius and Art Monk in one sitting, and find lab-maj fascism to be rather sexy when covered in my spunk-a-dunk. Dr. Bill Cosby agrees. Just ask him! Go ahead, he doesn't bite.

Wait, that's a lie! Coz makes Marv Albert look like Stuart Pankin on mescaline, circa "Arachniphobia"! Boo-jah! Right, Coz?

"Dizzee Rascal spiked your punch with Capt'n Crunch! Bozzle!"

Okay, sorry, yours motherfucking gorgeously truly got a l'il Abner sidestracked. Despite the well-known public battle between Bill Cosby and Dizzee Rascal, the Brit rapper came forward to help out Peabs with the naming of my tsunami disaster relief fund. Apparently, he and Rodney Roo thought it would be a tigs shats idea to lace my drizz with 400cc's of D-lysergic acid diethylamide and then go over the suggestions written to me by you, my pleabs of Peabs. And I must say, there were some keepers. For instance:

• Love You Long Time: Sex Tourism Fund
  
• Tears for Shmears (which, alas, had been previously used)
  
• Eat Mommies for Tsunamis
  
• Save the Asian Crackwhores Fund
  

I would like to personally thank all of you for your submissions. Howevs, the name of my new fundraiser is:

• The Obvs in '05™ "I went to Bangkok for some hashish, a suckjob and some authentic Pad Thai, and all I got was this lousy wet tee-shirt" Tsunami Relief Fund.
  

Yes, I know it's a mouthful, but so is my fucking D™, and I've never heard your cocksucking whore self ever complain about that, so fellate me! Tsunobvs!

I drop acid like New Yorkers drop names. Mmmmmmmm, and I taste so effing good. Go ahead, try some Peabs. If I weren't a waifish, anorexic, drug addicted sex freak, maybe I'd be a little juicier. We can't all be Grover, can we?? NEAR!!!!! FAR!!!!

Obvs in '05™.

Buttfucking The Tsunami And Your Effing Mommy.

Peabs is very disappointed in you. So is Bodney Boo.

I called out to you, my pleabs of Peabs, to assist your fearless and motherfucking (literally and figuratively) gorgeous leader in naming my tsunami disaster relief fund. And what did you do? That's right; you ignored Peabs, you selfish fucks. Sure, I may epitomize superficiality and self-absorbtion on this brilliant site, but that doesn't mean you should all try and copy yours effing truly. Granda, who could really blame you? I'm fucking perfect. I was curing cancer as a fetus when you were getting handjobs from your sister in the backalley of a White Castle in Lubbock, Texas, you fucking clit-rings. When Peabs was two years old, I was rewriting the fucking King James version of the fucking Bible; what were you doing? Oh that's right. You were getting assraped by a strap-on worn by a neutered Richard Dean Anderson on the set of "MacGuyver." She mars all over your Dana Elcars, you fucking mo-mo loving Ratzo Rizzos! Schmobvs.

So with that, I am now giving you through the long holiday weekend to come up with a name. My brosnan, Aaron Peabs, was the only one to email Peabs regarding this matter, but I want to give his pretty ass some competition - although his idea of "Save The Dirty Asians Fund" was pure genius, and lovingly ironic. Hogsviously! Also, Peabs is a little consumed at the current moment, preparing my inauguration speech, so things will be put on halt here until this Tuesday. And by consumed, I mean I'm in midst of getting a sloppy salad tossing from Sandy Duncan, who finds it necessary to sing songs from "Peter Pan" as she gargles down my ass secretions. Fucking slut! You ruined the Hogan family! Mars. Valerie forever.

Anything to add, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Dizzee Rascal spackled my tackle box with Samantha Fox! Flazzum!"

Obvs in '05™.

Cockslapping The Malnourished And Underprivileged.

Let's be shmears here, folks. Contrary to popular belief, Peabs is more than just a pretty face, ginormous D™ and a beautiful mind (lick my effing Joe Sakic and go do some fucking math, John Nash!). I am a giving man - and not in just the "Peabs loves to give head to waifish, Chlamydia-stricken cokewhores" manner (though it certainly is fucking Ratzo Rizzo all up in your Rodney Roo, duh). Upon seeing the results of last week's tragic tsunami in southeast Asia, yours effing truly and my gorgeous fucked-up cohort Dr. Bill Cosby decided to set up a disaster relief fund. The true task at hand, howevs, was naming said fund. Tastefully. And by tastefully, I mean seeing how many times the words "relief," "orally pleasure" and "nourish oneself with the protein from Coz's jazzum flazzum" could appear. Mars she all over your prematurely ejaculated Spunky Roostered tees! Cock-a-doodle-doo, Henry! Tsunobvsies.

I'm great. Oh, what's that? What Peabs just said doesn't make any fucking sense? I shan't even dignify that with a sarcastic and genius response. Lord knows Peabs certainly isn't a genius, nor sarcastic. Not one fucking bit, you fucking handjob mo-mos. I also never talk about myself.

Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs Peabs

Never.

Anywizz, my good friend Bodney Boo visited my posh 45,000 square foot loft in downtown Kingston this weekend to discuss the launching and naming of my tsunami relief fund. Needless to say, it was rather productive. Bodney brought over some beef brisket and rubbed it all over his ooh-jah boo-jahs and let his pet ferret Lick, ummmm, well, lick off the remnants. Lest Peabs forget to mention my dear old pal also brought an overstuffed bag of benzodiazepines and an endless amount of pure Andean trichocereus pachanoi. It was then decided that we would be launching the foundation in the middle of this week, yet we were still without a proper name. Coz felt it should be called the "Flazzumgastic Organilizationalism Alligatorasm Chasm Faction," but that was, even for yours effing truly, a bit of a mouthful. And I have a fucking mouth that could handle a load the size of Whoopi Goldberg's nappy duggsies. Duhvs. Bovs all over your ghostly tees, Swayze crazy! Muhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

So what Peabs asks of you, my lovelies, is to assist your President-elect in naming my tsunami relief association by emailing my hot ass with some suggestions. The winner will receive a firm assfucking and enough anal drippage to guarantee a down syndromed by-product appearing in their womby-womb in approximate five to seven business days. Only Indira Gandhi has been able to experience such a butt-reaming. And let Peabs tell you, it was fucking outstanding. Perhaps only rivaled by the time myself and William Fucking Cosby, with the help of former WWF™ Tag-Team Champions, Demolition, gangraped Fran Drescher with a Yves St. Laurent ascot, a bathtub full of Jell-O® and 'ludes, and Mr. Fuji's cane. Schmobvs. Some say hottest gangrape since Coleman Young sodomized Malice Green with a crackpipe smothered in cucumber sauce. Φανταστικός!

Anything you care to add, Dr. Coz?

"Dizzee Rascal likes razzleberry falafel waffles!"

Obvs he does, Coz. Obvs he does.

Obvs in '05™.

Methematical Equations.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that Peabs loves to consume crystal meth in all shapes and sizes (though preferably in massive, obscene quantities, bovs). This is about as obvs as the herpes festering on the upper lip of Dr. Bill Cosby, due to last evening's horse-induced affair with a Vietnamese crackwhore that bore a striking resemblance to Curtis Armstrong. What few of you know is that yours effing truly also dabbles a tad in screenwriting; usually quality pictures, though I have been known to write a blockbuster every once in a wizz in order to supplement my ever-burdgeoning drug habit. Schmobvs. In fact, people ask Peabs constantly if any of the characters in my scripts are based off of my pretty self. Hogsviously the answer is obvs. Tyler Durden? Written in midst of a 14 day coke binge. Charles Foster Kane? Well, you can probs put two and two together and figure that one out. And if you can't, well, please Sookie Sapperstein my fucking cockring, you effing dildo. I'm the best.

Yesterday morning, Bill Cosby was shitting on the kitchen floor when he turned to yours effing truly and asked if we should quickly split an eight-ball (or 4) and go to Charles Bronson's house for his annual "Dirty Dozen Party". For those of you unaware, every year Chuck invites his share of filthy starlets (and equally as filthy faux-politicos like my gorgeous self) to dress up as cast members from his timeless 1967 motion picture and reenact scenes. Well, sorta. Actually, it's a bunch of trannies and drag queens obsessed with Jim Brown injecting smackysmack into their Uncle Festicles and baking Gyne-Lotrimin cookies. By the dozen.

Cute.

Mars she. Needless to say, this is where Coz met the aforementioned Joseph Heller, who apparently came dressed as Col. Everett Dasher Breed. The rest of the evening was pretty standard - Peabs smoked some yaba and got my ass-licked by Telly Savalas, who kept asking me:

"Who loves eatin' ya ass, baby? That's right, Telly, baby. Telly!"

While most would find that to be rather disgusting, the man has a tongue only comparable to a candyflipping Donald Duck giving a Hum-V to Joe Buck. So eager, so razzle-dazzling. Bovs on your Kojaked tees, El Sleezo Tough!

Until tomorrow, my pleabs of Peabs. Damn, that's really creative. Shocking, since I'm a fucking gobblingly mad genius, you Ratzo Rizzo wascally wabbits! Anything left to say, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Dizzee Rascal is a flazzum scuzzle buzzle!"

Obvs in '05™.

2005: "The Year Of Peabs" In Chinese Zodiacal Terms. Robvs.

It's sickening how much you fucking missed Peabs. Obvs.

Happy 2005, my bizzozo lovelies. I trust your holidays were effing abracadabra wanna reach out and grabya but in no way compared to yours effing truly's. Duh. To say that Peabs had a fascinating and remarkable vacation would be like saying that Dr. Bill Cosby shoved his hot Negro cockadoodledoo down the windpipe of a slovenly Hungarian prostitute named Joseph Heller during Christmas Eve midnight mass at St. Peter's Basilica. Bovs all over your shaking papal tees, John Paul II! I'm so fucking beautiful.

Peabs has never been one to believe in making New Year's resolutions. This is perhaps because of the fact that in 1977 I decided to give up blow (muhhhh) whilst attending a NYE party at Studio 54. Incidentally, that lasted approximately 12 seconds - no thanks to a noticeably coked-out Truman Capote, who had taken a particular liking to my gorgeous self, let alone tried multiple times to blumpkin me as he sang passages from "In Cold Blood" to the tune of Chic's "Le Freak." It was from that day forward Peabs would ingest at the very least 12 grams of cocaine a day and never make another resolution.

Until this year.

Why this year, you ask? You may be thinking: "Peabs, you're already friggin' amazing and extraordinary in every facet; there's nothing more you could possibly accomplish." This much is fucking bovs; clearly Peabs will be the greatest President in the effing universe, so there's no need to deem that as my resolution. I have the body of an adonis, and a D™ that makes Ron Jeremy look like a cloned hybrid of a disemboweled Jeremy Sisto (pre "Moonlight and Valentino," snatch) and Rainbow Brite wearing a fucking strap-on dipped in au jus. That being said, I have decided that my New Year's resolution will be to simply continue being fucking wonderful. I feel this way we will all benefit because my words and actions pretty much determine the entire course of nature. Peabs is just that powerful. Schmobvs.

Oh yes, I also plan of having hottt, unprotected, mescaline-fueled ass-sex with Rue McClanahan. Oh, try telling me you wouldn't hit Blanche, you pretentious handjobs. Shmears. Her vagina is so effing Ratzo Rizzo, I wanna spit on her clitoris, boo-jah boffle her like a Belgian waffle, and thank her for being a friend. Isn't that right, Coz?

"Yoooooooouuuuu will ruuuueeeee that day that my flizzum bozzled your bizzle bop!"

Ahhh yes. This will undeniably be the greatest year ever. Barring Peabs doesn't overdose before my Presidential inauguration. Wait, who am I kidding? The capital of Columbia is Peabs' left nostril; so kindly suck it and jump into the eye of a tsunami, you fucking mo-mo turkeyfuckers! Gobble!

Yes, it's true. Peabs is a genius. Duh. I can't believe you even asked me that question.

Obvs in '05™.