Bart Jemima: Professional Kangaroo.
The other day, Rodney Roo suggested to Peabs that I branch out from being the world's greatest, best-tasting and most gorgeous turkey¹. And what better way to do so than becoming a professional kangaroo? Dr. Bill Cosby agrees. Mind you, it will be difficult to replace my "gobble, gobble" call sign; therefore, Peabs plans to still use the phrase, though for now I plan to exclusively be a marsupial. I really, truly believe that it's not only a step forward for my pretty ass motherfucking self, but also for you, my pretty ass motherfucking America. And if you disagree, please suck my effing D™. Pretty please? With my hot spunk on top? You know you want to. I could feed Africa and Canada a hot jazz dinner and still have enough left ovs for dessert; that is if Peabs fucking ate dessert - which I do not, because it's for handjob mo-mo Ratzo Rizzo fucks like you, Kirstie Alley! Schmobvs.
Unlike turkeydom, the art of being a professional kangaroo requires a stage name, not unlike Rock Hudson or Jonathan Vaginaface. Coz suggested I seek guidance from his left testicle, but I attribute that to his massive consumption of thebaine. The always-wise Bodney Sue claimed that ex-Piston and current sports broadcaster John Salley was an expert on the subject. Apparently John and his twin brother Sally were the predominant 'roos in the early 1980's (hogsviously before John became a world-reknown yellow jacket and spider, snatch). Coincidentally, on Sunday evening, Peabs attended the same party as John Salley, who recognized me from the time I kidnapped and assfucked his filthy effing wife and held her for ransom in the sum of 40 dollars worth of skag and Mark Aguirre's pumpkinhead. Needless to say, it was an awkward meeting and yours effing truly immediately apologized, stating how I used to be a crazy fucking turkey and wanted to do something more with my life. You know, like the time I switched from shooting horse into my ooh-jah to shooting horse into my boo-jah. Duhvs.
The Spiderman saw that Peabs was dude shmears and with one snap of his fingers, he proclaimed me as Bart Jemima, professional kangaroo. Then I gave him an Abe Lincoln and tossed his wife's salad with such gusto, I made Alex Sanders look like Sanders® bumpy cake. Mmmmmmmm, bumps. Speaking of which; Coz, you wanna cut up some rails and invite Boris Becker over to play a little "how's your father?" in my pouchy-pouch?
"Dizzee Rascal razzamatazzed the guru jazzama-Tasmanian Devil with a rebel yell she wants more more yellow Jell-OOOOOOOO® like Old Yeller! Bozzle!"
Alas, poor Yorick, I guess we'll have to save that for another tizz. Looks like another boring evening of soaking my malnourished body-to-die-for in liquid acid and pretending I'm the President of the United States. Wait, you mean Peabs actually isn't the President? Have I been hallucinating this whole time?
Haha, I'm kidding. Whilst it's clear that Peabs has been tripping for years and shmears and tears for fears, it doesn't change the fact that I am the leader of the free world. Lest we forget I'm also the master of the universe. Eff He-Man, that vitzen spatchen Thor-wannabe mo-mo anklebomber (??????)!!! I HAVE THE POWER!!!!! She mars² all over your Pedro Almodóvars. I'm all about your fucking mother, you effing suckjob. Bovs.
To answer your question: no, it's really not that difficult being this brilliant and the most beautiful specimen the human race has ever encountered. Schmobvs. You so want to be me. Your lives are shit without Peabs. I'm the best.
Obvs in '05™.
¹As determined by a recent poll in Fiona's Turkey Enthusiast magazine. Which doesn't exist. Obvs.
²Or should it be She Ras? Nuhhhhhhhhhhh. He-Man references have about as much buzz as dropping mid-80's WWF® knowledge. And since Peabs does both, they have more buzz than a crackbaby getting breastfed by Whitney Houston. Robvs.