This Is A Valley Of Asses - A Fantastic Farm Where Asses Grow Like Peabs' Hot D™...

Hi, lovers. Peabs is back like that heart attack your Grandma Ethel VanSnackinShack had last weekend after snorting too much blizzard of schmobvs and pounding RB and Grey Goose Gossichs like Dr. William H. Cosby pounds raw, gaping buttholes. For those of you disbelievers who feel that Peabs' plotlines and overall mental psyche have gone further south than a crackwhore pulling tricks on the corner of Shmears Ave. and Twatface St., you can lick my sweet nadalies while yours effing truly Otis Spunkmeyers a hot Charlie Parker onto your fucking face. My fucking prose makes the work of F. Scott Fitzgerald look like a chlamydic sore on the throbbing cock that is society. That was a metaphor. Schmobvs. Oh, you disagree? Peabs created metaphors, you effing handjobs. Lest we forget Peabs also wrote the original Ten Commandments in 2076 B.C. while rolling on E and getting spanked by Terri Schiavo's feeding tube. Bovs on your vegetative tees, you motherfucking mo-mo fucks!

No, shmeariously everybody. Peabs certainly knows that I have been a slight bit out of contrizz as of late. And whilst Peabs shan't apologize for such tomfoolery, instead your gorgeous President shall treat you – my somewhat loyal readers – to a vivid and poignant account of the hooker and blow party myself and Coz hosted at la casa de blanca last Saturday. You may be asking yourself:

"Peabs, hasn't your ridiculously good-looking and heavily inebriated self already had numerous parties involving the animalistic and drug-induced assfucking of filthy call girls in the White House?"

I'd be lying if I said no. Mind you, I'm paid to lie, being President and all. Duh. But that's just not Peabs' style. And we all know what that is, don't we kids? Oh, you seem to have forgotten? Well, let me give you a refresher course, you fucksticks. I like everything hard: liquor, drugs, buttfucking. Yet, Peabs also has a passionate, romantic side. And by that, I really mean I'm into getting all Meredith Baxter-Birney on your A and putting on a little Johnny Mathis while sodomizing your diseased lab-maj with a Mexican unlubed candlestick that I have fittingly nicknamed Senorita Conchita Unlubeylubed. El bovs, yo es el fucking icon. ¡Mars she on your asno caliente, usted muchachas asquerosas de la llamada!

Sorry. Peabs got a little sidetracked there. Fucking Rodney Roo was cooking up my morning syringe of smacky-wacky-poo and ooh-jah boo-jah boo, and he must've added a l'il kit kat paddywack give a dog a bone to give Peabs that jumpstart I always need in the morning (and hogsviously normally supplement by blowing teener-long rails of Yo-Yo Ma and dissolving crackrock into my quadruple espresso). Anyway, Bill Cosby and I put together a high-profile guest list made up of the nation's biggest supporters of the Obvs Administration. Sure, you had your A-list Hollywood types and your left-wing politicos, but it was someone unexpected who stole the show. Which is almost schmalways the case at our events. That's right, I'm looking at you, FDR! Wheelchair, my ass. Motherfucker snorted so many effing speedballs at my last party, I couldn't get his ass off of the head table of the State Dining Room! I will give you this, Delano; you've got some tigs shats to the boombies dance moves. You make Martha Graham look like Mark Graham. Frankie!! Robvs.

While FDR's performance at the last White House function proved to be more memorable than the time Peabs pulled out and blew my Clap-ridden load in between your eyes like you were fucking Goliath, it doesn't even compare to the rock n' cock show put on by Sen. Orrin Hatch (R-Utah). For those of you unaware, the senator and Peabs have never been very copasetic on pretty much every issue imaginable. For instance, in the mid-90's, Hatch made public his opinion regarding the legalization of medicinal marijuana, his opinion being that he's against such. You can all guess my opinion. Duhvs. Fucking square. So I, in turn, during one of Sen. Hatch's televised appearances, tied the man down and took a heaping shit on his face in front of millions. Not to mention the fact that Dr. Bill Cosby once impregnated his daughter, Snatch, with a turkey baster full of his fertile, lukewarm man-gravy. And, she kept the child and named him Butterball! Gobble!

Maybe the man felt he was getting back at Coz and yours effing truly, but it was quite the opposite. How he even snuck into the party was beyond Peabs! Most likely that damn Bodney Sue, always trying to make things interesting. Fucking 'roo. Anyhow, Hatch felt it would be a good idea to emulate the persona of Long John Silver, freebase a potent hybrid of dimethyltryptamine and Flintstones® vitamins and yabba-dabba-doo his way to the grand piano, where house pianist Johann Sebastian Cockring had been tickling the ivories (among other things; I'm talking prostates, people!) for the majority of the evening. It was at this moment in which Orrin began to relentlessly heckle JS, requesting "Ode To Joy" every other minute. To which the musician responded:

"Senator Hatch, that was fucking Ludvig Van Beethoven. Not only am I not Beethoven, I'm also not Bach. My last name is "Cockring" and I only play the works of Tangerine Dream, you effing dildo."

This did not bode well with Orrin. He removed his pants and asked Cockring if he would "like to see this old Mormon put his own testicles down his 'hatch'." A shameless pun, we know, but it was still somewhat funny. Especially since Hatch had forgotten to remove his buttplug that bore a striking resemblance to Barbara Mandrell; and it protruded from his ass in such a way that, for some reason, turned on all of the whores in the room something fierce and spermtacularly Michael Rappaport. Add a little cocaine to the fire, and suddenly you've got a free-for-all fuckfest that makes last year's National NAMBLA Convention look like the basement of the pedophile who molested me when I was 2. I'm not positive (unless we're talking HIV), but I am pretty sure Peabs blacked-out mid-rimjob from Barack Obama. Care to clarify, Cosby?

"Yoooouuuuu seeeee, Cosby was too busy flazzuming Obama's mama with Dizzee Rascal's llama in the Bahamas! Rizzazzly speaking, I am a doctor first and a big batch of puddin' second. Waffle house, falafel blouse and tit mouse aside, Cosby also likes to flozzle bop on the side!"

I make fucking Stephen Hawking's talkbox look like a Peter Frampton concert. Oooh, baby, I love your way. And by way, I mean the way you slobber up and down my shaft macaroni and Peabs. Shmears.

Obvs in '05™.