Kitty Kat!! Get Off The Island!!

Like all past Presidents, yours effing truly had to get my yearly physical yesterday. Sure, this may seem a Tad Inhaler early in my term to get a check-up; howevs, the administration felt that since Peabs lives a bit of a "different" lifestyle than other former Commanders-In-Chief (besides maybe Taft, who had an infamous addiction to special K and bubonic plague-ridden slooty-sloot devotchkas, Ratzo!), it would be best to get it over with. And thank fucking Coz we did! Can you believe that I have high blood pressure? She effing mars. Other than that nonsense, Peabs is in tip-top shape (only 28 pounds underweight, nuhh), though I was told I could use a little more sleep. This makes sense, considering I've been pulling the same all-nighter since 1975. Ahh yes. 1975. That was the year Peabs discovered the art of sprinkling PCP into my morning whiskey, covering my Adonis bod with mayo and getting frisky with my Mexican house boy Mateo and a young, hung Scott Baio. That being said, I had Rodney Roo summon my personal masseuse/nurse/fluffer Hot Yogurt, and ordered her to inject me full of enough carisoprodol to kill Divine at an Amish Buffet convention in Sandusky. Be that as it may, it didn't work so well, for your gorgeous motherfucking President and Dr. Bill Cosby had been snorting crystal meth for five straight days with a Somalian hooker named Ms. Clyde Labia of Majoraville and the ghost of Edsel Ford. Bovs on your Model Tees, Ed! Boo-jah!


What are you fuckfaces doing this weekend?!?! Oh, you might dress up like Friar Tuck, sit in a bathtub full of chimpanzee spidunkadunk and listen to your CHANT album? Effing mo-mos. May Peabs suggest you visit my Taj Mahal¹? Obvs, Peabs may. What are you going to do about it? Fuck my Papa Roach in the anal cavity until his bicuspids bisexually bite your mumbly-bumbly off? Mars. Quoth the great Vincent Van Gogh:

"I cut my fucking ear off and sent it to a stupid fucking ho-bag because my pussy ass can't handle any absinthe. I'm also a hack when it comes to post-impressionism; though I am certainly better than that fucking assclown Gauguin. Punk-ass bitch motherfucker. Vinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnieeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"

And you thought watching "The Bicycle Thief" on 'ludes and kit kat while getting your ass Edvard Munched upon by Mark Fidrych would get you off the island! So naive.

Until next week, my pleabs of Peabs. Anything you care to add, Coz?

"Yooooouuuuu seeeeeee, Dizzee Rascal likes to flazzum the frisbee with bumblebees and flizzum the stickball with Paul Westphal!!! Bozzle!!!"

Face it - Peabs is your reason for living. Lou Reed agrees. Schmobvs. Oh, you disagree?? I have five American dollars and my man-sherbert smothered all over your Muggsy Bogues that disagrees. Translation: Peabs just jizzum-jazzumed on your Templeton Peck, you cum-hungry twatty-twat. Zappa!!!!!!!

Obvs in '05™.

¹Peabs, I.M. Pei and Bodney Sue built the Taj Mahal in 1995. Duh. Oh you didn't know that? That's because I'm lying and wanted another excuse to use a footnote, Uncle Grambo-stizz. Gobble!