So Sayeth The Peabs

Obvs in '08™

2007-11-14T07:51:00.001-05:00

:Ahem:

Muhhhhh.

2005-06-02T12:34:00.000-04:00

Lick me.

The Diarrhea Of Anne Frank.

2005-04-28T11:32:00.000-04:00

Peabs, Dr. Bill Cosby and our band of misfits - including Rodney Roo and Bodney Sue, vulvs - will be gallivanting sumptin' truly outrageous in California this weekend. Peabs is my name, no one else is the same, Peabs is my name! Peabs!

Shmears.

But don't fear, oh pleabs of Peabs; I shan't be astray for too long. Barring death, yours effing truly will be back next week. And since it's clear that I don't really give a fuck about updating that often, it shouldn't really appear to be any different than the usual. Well, despite your abnormally overwhelming feeling of exigency, most likely caused by the actuality that your life is rendered fustian sans Peabs. Duhvs. I make everyone's life worth living. Just ask Bodney Sue's mulatto, hermaphroditic partner Spooky Mookie. It would be a downright egregious understatement to say that my gorgeous fucking ass didn't spin his life right 'round, baby right 'round, like a record, baby. Dead or alive, Peabs'll still be Dame Judi Denching my igneous bovsum all over your fucking mantastic mammy-kins, Pete Burns! Muhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Anyhow, Spooky Mookie was once a happy-go-lucky carnie who exclusively traveled with the country's most respected third-rate circus, The Cockface Bros. Flying Ooh-Jah Extravaganza; which was coincidentally headed by my now-head of security, Cockface McJohnson. Wait, coincidence? Who am I kidding? Schmobviously Peabs is making most of this shats boombies up, so it should be boss hogs like Nurse Ratchet that my brosnan rosnan C-Face was involved. Fucking mars bars, yo. Bowwwwwwww!

Needless to say, although Cockface is an exceptional proprietor, even he couldn't control the rather obdurate Mookie. For those of you who didn't know, Mookie went a little bog snorkeling gonzo in 1991 when the seminal reclusive has-been grunge band Pearl Jam chose the jersey number of former basketball wash-out Mookie Blaylock as the title of their debut record. This made my spooky compadre despondent, to say the least. Overnight, suddenly Spooky was the third most famous Mookie in America. Dude shmears indeed.

This led to a downward spiral that makes Trent Reznor look like Daffy Duck all quacked-out on smacky-wacky boo-jah. Mookie upped his hikori intake to a kilo a day, thus making his state of mind significantly mondaine. Mind you, Peabs can handle my peyote with the best of them. Howevs, if you start consuming as much as Spooky on a daily basis, without warning you think your fucking cock is a restless native named Dandy Randy Boo Boo, trying desperately to extirpate from the union that is your hot bod. Isn't that right, Coz?

"Yooooooouuuu seeeeee, me Dizzzzeee think that this is a flazzication of numerous tumorous flizzumations! And your association with the assassination of Haitian nations is both bozzle worthy and flozzum and jetsum like George Jetson!!! Theoooooo!!!"

Peabs sees your point, Cosby. My D™ really does have it's own identity. Shit, it's fucking trademarked for Coz's sake! What was I thinking?

Oh, I know what I was thinking.

This blow really is effing tigs. And that smokin' hot salad tossing you gave me last night? Yup, it's up there with the best asslicking Peabs has received all week. Gobble, gobble!

Oh, and as for Spooky Mookie? All I did was shit on his face and he was fucking cured. Ain't nothing like holistic medicine. I would know; I'm a fucking doctor. Duhvs.

Rub my sack and call me Dad, I'm off to California, you effing handjobs.

Forever Obvs™.

Positively Bovs Street.

2005-04-21T11:02:00.000-04:00

Shmears. It would be an egregious antistrophe to say that your Pope, President and pride 'n joy, Peabs, had a derisory weekend. Normally, this would go without saying, but it's vastly apophthegmatic that one of my favorite pastimes is talking about myself. Duh. In fact, I believe it's third on my list, somewhere behind asslicking coke binges and fisting mongoloid orphans named Poo Poo. Oh, what's that Dr. William H. Cosby?

"What about the flazzum?"

Umm, no offense, Coz. But what exactly do you mean by "what about the flazzum"?

"Youuuuu seee, Dizzee and Coz are inquiring and conspiring and Spencer for hiring about the pontification of the bozzle!"

Ahh yes, that whole glorious debacle. Shmears.

Peabs is aware that my posts have been desultory, but my acumen is bona fide. Your gorgeous President and interim head of the Catholic church had been holed up with the College of Cardinals, as part of the election process for a new Pope. Whilst Peabs knew that my consideration for becoming the full-time pontiff was a long shot, I did my best at making myself appear as the most attractive candidate. Duh. I'm the most attractive person living or dead. Oh you disagree? Try being within a furlong of my bovsness for more than five seconds without simultaneously shitting your pants and fingerbanging your hot and throbbing lab-maj, you filthy fucking sloot! Peabs assures you that your attempts at denying my unequivocal fervorous tepidity will be futile! Shmears on your effing Du-X-Ring, you nefarious slutbags.

Anyhow, before the Cardinals congregated to select a new leader, each of us candidates had to go through a little self-promotion, if you will. And Peabs will, spank you very much. As mentioned above, there are few things Peabs enjoys more than talking about my fucking wonderful and charming exsistence, so I felt that I could use this to my distinct advantage. I decided against being innocuous, and instead short and sweet, despite the fact that Peabs is over six feet tall and so so effing dirty. Some say dirtier than my Mexican cousin Sanchez, but just slightly less dirty than Dirty himself. Mmmmmmmmmmboooooowwwwwwwww!!! Needless to say, I explained that my first name (yes, Peabs has one, though 'tis rarely used), Matthew, means "Gift of God" in Hebrew; for that reason alone, I felt the Popehood was mine. Now, hogsviously my omniscient self knows what you clever fucks are thinking. Peabs, aren't you God?

Certainly this isn't a far-fetched conjecture. Schmobvs.

Howevs, Peabs has always had more of a Christ complex than anything. Though I shalln't deny that I have proclaimed myself as God. Duh. Look at me. I'm so fucking pulchritudinous. That means "beautiful," you uneducated cockfaces. Mars. And contrary to popular belief, Peabs is the gift of God. Any rumors you may have heard foretelling said gift being a hookah filled with fuzzy-wuzzies and a box of Franzia® are merely scuttlebutt.

That being said, the priests apparently didn't take too kindly to this. They claim that my association with a known rapist and nonsensical pervert – that being Coz (robvs) – hurt my chances at becoming the new Pope. And since yours effing truly had been couped up this past week (sans blow, no less!), I hadn't heard about my beautiful black friend's recent sexcapades. Personally, I think this is fucking bullshit. So effing what if Coz touched a few women here and there? Last I looked, there was something like 800 million Catholic priests charged with habemusing little boys papams. She fucking mars.

This was probably a blessing in disguise, what with all of my burgeoning responsibilties as leader of the free world. Lest we forget I was itching something fierce for some sort of line, rail, bump, hit or toke, and another day of sobriety would have more than likely driven Peabs to start huffing paint again. And we all know what happens when Peabs huffs paint, right?? Boo-jah!

So with that, on this first day of my twenty-eighth year, I, Peabs, declare myself Emperor of the Universe. How does that sound, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Yoooooouuuu seeeee, it sounds good to meeeeeee and Dizzzzeeeee!!!"

God damn right it does.

Forever Obvs™.

April Golden Showers Bring My Fucking Urine All Over Your Effing Ooh-Jah!

2005-04-14T11:14:00.000-04:00

It had been much too long since Peabs had heard from my good friend and long time Obvs Administration supporter Alex Sanders. I was in midst of receiving my morning papal cock-swabbing when the infamous ass-eater phoned, and it made me happier than Dr. Bill Cosby high on yayo, rubby-rubbing his lukewarm smegma all over the upper-lip of Lukas Haas. Got flazzum, Scott Dandridge? And by flazzum, I mean gobby-gobs of oozing cock-cheese. Everybody says you love it, you fucking gallon of momogenized milk. Yummy yummy yummy, I've got bazzle in my tummy! Muhhhhhhhhhhh.

Anyhow, being both the leader of the free world and Catholic church has been rather highfalutin for yours effing truly this past week. So it should come as no surprise that my formidable, salad-tossing porn star friend would want to come to the aid of Peabs in my time of urgent desideratum. And what better way to take the load off of my rather sickly and emaciated shoulders than to take said load and blow it all over the primed aperture of famed ex-slooty sloot of Pope John Paul II, Margaret Clitherow. No, shmeariously. That's actually her name. Mars she.

It should go without saying that Alex Sanders, at the very least, owed Peabs. Whilst I was quite grateful for the gesture, it was expected considering what my pretty ass motherfucking self and Dr. William H. Cosby did for him last year during our campaign for the Presidency. Now I've risked my foxy, dreamboat, insured-for-a-billion-dollar neck for many a douchebag parvenu in my day. For instance, in 1981 thesaurus mogul Peter Mark Roget was in dire straits, financially. Contrary to popular belief, this had nothing to do with his flunitrazepam-inspired obsession with Mark Knopfler, but rather his feeble dependence upon sloppy hot gay beejers from Webelo-ranked Cub Scouts and mainlining lonamin® into his scroaty-scroat. Oh please, like you've never wanted a tepid young lad's arrow of light all over your boo-jah! Shmears. Obey the law of my fucking sack.

Nevertheless, Roget blew his fortune foolishly and came to his close friend, Coz, for guidance:

Roget: "William, I supplicate your auspices. I have become penurious and destitute."

Coz: "Yoooooooouuuuu seee, Roget, me and Dizzee feel that your flizzum has become too fizzy! Falafel your riff-raff laffy-taffy to Peabs, and suddenly all will be bizzle bozzle!"

Roget: "So you are adumbrating that I desist my overwrought use of the English language, and barter all of my highbrow theories to your bewitching, narcotic-consuming inamorato, Peabs?"

Coz: "Flazzum!"

So with that, Peabs purchased the rights to Roget's publications. And because I'm such a benevolent heartthrob, I not only decided to keep the original name, but also made it a point to use it as a tool for seemingly every other word written here on SSTP. Bovs. Peabs might be a fucking prodigy, but from time to time I do need a little assistance – from myself! Bowwwwwwwwwwww!!! You fucking love me.

Oh, and as for how I helped out Alex Sanders? Well, unsurprisingly he had acquired a butt rash that made the splotchy-splotch on Gorbachev's forehead look like the syph that had been festering on my nutsackalicious since the time Peabs respectively teabagged Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem. Manah minahobvs!

Needless to say, since the application of Peabs' tongue to any bodily perforation could cure effing cancer, I rimmy-rimmed Alex Sanders' sweetly shaved ass, sopping up any remnants of a breakout. And you know what, jerkoff? It tasted like turkey! Gobble gobble!!!

God bless Peabs. I'm amazing.

Obvs in '05™.

All-You-Can-Eat Tossed Salad Bar For Everyone!

2005-04-06T13:30:00.000-04:00

Rodney Roo and his on-again off-again girlfriend Windy Mindy are so fucking funny. Every once in a while, the constantly incongruous Roo will purloin from Dr. Bill Cosby's stash of microdots and have his rooty-toot slooty-sloot of a fuckbuddy enemize his tender crispy bacon cheddar ass with some meprobamate. Why, you may ask? Firstly, there's a Peabs that wants you to have it your way. And, boviously because it chill-out maxes 'n relaxes and numby numbs the sphincty-winkty in such a way that in the matter of seconds, you'll be shatting Rhea Pearlman for days! But wait, Skeet Ulrich!! There's more!!

Actually, there isn't. Peabs is just in an especially jubilant mood today, for reasons I cannot quite pinpoint. Though, I am certain it has much to do with the romantic and frantic antics that yours effing truly and Coz took part in the evening before last. Now it should schmobviously come as no alarm and no surprise that your gorgeous and fearless leader was emotionally drained, what with last week's passing of Johnnie Cochran and Saturday's death of my close, personal friend, Pope John Paul II. That being said, in order to brighten our spirits, Cosby and myself made our way to our local Olive Garden. One must consider the fact that Coz and I had been tripping balls on peyote for 72 consecutive hours, so in our brills (yet dissociatively Vans® Warped Tour) minds, this was the closest to Italy we could be in order to pay tribute to our recently deceased pontiff. Plus, Peabs scored a coupon for free wine all night with purchase of the all-you-can-eat salad bar, so it seemed like a no-brainer. Schmobvs.

Little did myself and my hot Nubian sidekick know that the "all-you-can-eat salad bar" at the O.G. did not mean unlimited ass-licking rimjobby jobs from a skagged-out Shelley Duvall. And since we're not big consumers of food (duhvs, eatin's cheatin'), we opted to instead slam a gallon of Riunite Lambrusco and fashion the empty bottle into a gravity bong, with which we used to freebase some Mussels di Napoli sprinkled with bovs-laden MDMA. Needless to say, Dr. Bill became rather frisky-whiskey with the other restaurant patrons, insisting that "when you're here, you're flazzum!" This translated hogsviously means your Spiro Agnew is fair game for Heathcliff's monstrous Richard Nixon slappage. Ejaculate all over your Watergates, Deep Throat! Bovs on 'em too while you're at, you effing mo-mo buttfuck. Shmears.

It didn't take long for us to be removed from the eatery, but it didn't stop there. We called Bodney Sue and told the maniacally deranged marsupial to prepare the White House with some squalid B-girls and a grandiose passle of flake, for there was to be an ostentatious coronation that evening! Cosby suggested that Peabs take over as interim Pope until the Catholic church decided on a replacement for J.P., and I couldn't think of a more Count Von Tigglesworth way to pay respects for my great friend and long time supporter. Acting as legal coronater, Cosby emulated his inanimate litigating hero Cochran, eloquently dubbing yours motherfucking truly temporary spiritual overlord:

"Yooooooooouuuuuu seeeeeee, me and Dizzee dub Peabs as the Pope, for it's yooooooouuuu that flazzums the most dope! Flizzum!"

So with that, I am no longer Peabs The Great. Sure it was a hot run, but I am setting my sights on bigger and better things. Obvs, I've already done more for the Presidency in four months than any of our past leaders combined. And whilst I am unsure whether or not I'll put my name in the running as a candidate for the permanent successor to Pope John Paul II, my part-time stab at the job will no doubt make Catholicism tickle the fancies of even the least-dedicated of religious followers. And by "tickle the fancies," Peabs really means I'll vellicate your vaggie-vag with my holy D™ and auto-asphyxiate you with an anal bead rosary! Pius has got nothing on Peabs! Mars she all over your Father, Son and the Holy Peabs!

I'm the best.

Obvs in '05™.

My Jizzum-Jazzum Has More Protein Than Dr. Atkins' Small Intestine. Bovs.

2005-03-31T10:50:00.000-05:00

Peabs is fucking extraordinary in every facet. Bovs. That being said, Dr. William H. Cosby and my outstanding, modestly gorgeous self were saddened to hear of the passing of long time Obvs Administration supporter Johnnie Cochran. Few people in history even compare to Peabs as a litigator. In fact, I'm probably the most manhunterastic attorney in the hysterectomy of Nicole 4 eva, so fear this, Marky Mark! Jack says you've got a great big cock. May I see it? Please? Rodney Roo let me see his! And, unsurprisingly, his summer sausage was stumpier than a quadriplegic Clare Danes compared to the General Sherman that is my motherfucking D™. And boy does it fuck the mothers! Oh, you don't believe Peabs? What does it say on your birth certificate? Yup, that's a lie. I'm your effing father, fucknozzle. Just because I luuuuvvvvvvvvv you and feel somewhat guilty for not being part of your worthless childhood, here's a birthday present consisting of a Jolly Roger salad tossing and one free fistfuck from J.D. Roth's Fistfucking Fun House! Shmears.

So, yes, back to Johnnie. What few know is that the blackalicious lawyer served as head of my defense council in a highly publicized trial from 1984, in which a seven-year old Peabs was sued by a then-unknown doctor named Robert C. Atkins. Admittedly, I was not the world-reknown Jesus Christ Superstar I am now; Norman Jewison-stizz, hogsviously. Don't even bother vomiting on my fucking face post-beej like Sloppy Fozz on Thankgiving eve if you mention that mo-mo fucktard Andrew Lloyd Webber! Fucking handjob. Anyway, since Peabs was only slightly famous in '84¹, Atkins felt as though he could extort some Norm Cash from my growing fortune in order to get his "revolutionary diet book" a publicity boost without my beautiful pre-pubescent self making a big two in the pink one in the stink about it. Nothing's shocking my sweet ass, Jane! Schmobvs. Anyhow, personally I believe it was actually because Coz sold the doctor some of my equally revolutionary protein shakes to be marketed as his own. Little did he know that the shakes were simply my very own man-sauce packaged in a tin-can I procured from a bum Bodney Sue savagely beat to death when he was going through his Berkowitz phase. Oh, that Bodney! Such an enigma. Sade, donnes-moi! Muhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Lick it.

I contemplated representing myself (duhvs, I'm a fucking wunderkind), howevs Bill Cosby talked yours effing truly out of it. Peabs believes Coz's proclamation went something like this:

"Yoouuuuuu seeeeeee, me and Dizzee and Lizzie Grubman hired Johnnie to overseeeee the dee-dee in the fiddle faddle riddle raddle! Then Cosby piddle-paddled his way out of Sing-Sing with a Ming vase and Ving Rhames and flames coming out of my flazzum!"²

Needless to say, Cochran was one of the few attorneys whom I trusted with my case. Lest we forget in the 80's the man smoked more crackrock than Malice Green – pre-Mag flashlight, snatch – and dropped Cosby-esque vernacs seemingly every other syllable. And if there's anyone who can appreciate that, it's Peabs. Studies³ say ninety percent of what Peabs says doesn't make any sense to the layman. Which is precisely why you need my hot throbbing cock to lay you, man. Mars she. It'll open your Andrew Bogut to a whole new world, so come over here and rub my magic lamp, you roo-fucking 'tutes! In no time flat, "obvs" will sound like "obviously", and "tigs shats boombalats" shall resonate like glorious trumpets and tromboners! Isn't that right, Coz?

"Yoooooouuuu seeeee, me and Dizzee Rascal cacadackled the spackle tackle box, while Orville Redenbacher flazzumed his Rickenbocker with Betty Crocker! Puddin'!!"

Hmmmmmm. I'm not quite sure how often you'll need the old "in-out, in-out" from Peabs in order for Heathcliff to start making sense. My guess? Twice. Just bend over while I lubey-lube my unprotected and infected D™ with some room temperature Crisco® and buttfuck you all the way back to your velvety 'Frisco bathhouse, Moe-Moe Tucker! Peabs-a-roni: the San Francisco treat! Bovs.

Obvs in '05™.

¹According to French Tickler Fuckstickler Fagazine, Peabs was the 3rd most famous person alive in the year 1984, behind Barbaro Garbey and Winston Smith, respectively.
²Okay, so maybe Coz say that exactly. It was the fucking '80's, for Peabs sake. There was a reason why my nickname was Cokehead Von Hugecockerson. Obvs.
³And by studies, I mean what I estimated just now after snorting some 714's off your Aunt Fran's clitring. Ooh-jah!

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

2005-03-22T11:28:00.000-05:00

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™.

And For Dessert This Evening, We Have Peabs' Homemade Crème Brûlée Shot Down Your Thrizz.

2005-03-16T10:36:00.000-05:00

It's getting to be that time of year, kids! You know, when Peabs dresses up like the Easter 'Roo and hoppidy-hop-hop hoppidy-hops around like a senior citizen rolling his droopy snoop-a-doop-doop bratwurst Steven Fursts off! Schmobvs. Lest we forget how it's also that time of year where I golden shower y'all with some Hubba Hubba and Red Rock goodness gracious great balls of spermatozoon, just to make that whole resurrection of Christ much more hoombodnay fadnomay ooh-jah boo-jah boo! Isn't that right, Rodney Roo?

"Totally motally rotally roo!"

Spooky!

Now before Dr. Bill Cosby gets the urge to take a hot dump on your sassy Classy Freddie Blassie mizzle-mazzle, let your gorgeous President tell you about my weekend. It pretty much goes without saying that it involved white rice, head lice and Bo Bice. And, duhvs, I shot my hot joy-juice all over the Spruce Goose while getting fingey-fingered do you have to let it linger by Kip Winger! Peabs is only 17!! Bovs, that's a flat-out lie. I have the maturity of a hot 'n steamy preemie, the looks of a 25 year-old hot wet dreamy-creamy fuckstick and the vortexual sexual prowess of an infantile jack o' lantern! And to Das Boot, enough razzamajazzum in my nutsaculartastics to start a colony of slappy-nappies! Mars she on your effing viparitakarani, you fucking New-Age vegan mantra karma ball-licking mo-mos! Yogobvs.

Downward facing dog, my ass. Peabs prefers the jackhammer. Unprotected, snatch. How else you gonna hit me up with some o' dat AIDS luvin', you diseased harlotan? HIV-pobvs.

Lately, yours effing truly and my ubiquitous partner-in-crack, Coz, have been criticized for not making much sense here on SSTP. I'd like to personally state for the record that I am the President of the United States and have access to endless amounts narcotics and hot, dirty and loose vag. Mmmmmmmm, vag. Furthermore, because of this, Peabs should be able to flabbergast and glabberflast and jabberwocky my sake bombs with Vietnam during Ramadan eid Mubaarak kullu 'aamin wa antum bi khair all I fucking want! Right, Bill Cosby?

"Youuuuuuu seeeeee, Dizzee and meeeee would like to flazzum all ova Anna Kournikova while flizzumming the crimson 'n clover! Bozzle bizzle puzzle posby, you know my name is Bill Cosby!"

This just in: I'm the fucking best. You think there were a lot of tees at the Boston Party Tea Party? She mars, Ms. Camellia Sinensis, you fucking twatwhore. I make the fucking Dutch look like Christ on a crutch wearing Von Dutch! Voorbij duidelijk op uw fucking T-stukken!

Obvs in '05™.

Little Miss Muffet Sat On A Tuffet, Eating My Fucking A.

2005-03-08T12:22:00.000-05:00

Come here, baby. Come give Peabs some love. No no, not that kind of love, you filthy old soomka! Are you prepared to boast and host and Emily Post the Large Margest sn-sn-sn-snausage your silky-smooth rootin'-tootin' uterus has ever has the pleasure of accommodating? Dr. William H. Cosby and yours effing truly felt that you whorish Catholic slooty-sloots have been so goody-goody gumdrops this Lenten season that y'all deserve a present. And by "present", what Peabs really means is that come Friday, my gorgeous self and my loyal cokehead sexual deviant sidekick will be treating each and every one of you to a juicy prime rib dinner, smothered in our au jazz. And if that's not enough, I'll be more than happy to allow you to Rimmy-Rim McRimmerson my fucking beautiful ass! Nothing compliments a hot beef dinner like a tossed salad, my lovelies. Kinda like how nothing compliments your Lipps, Inc. like my D™ club-manwiched in between them. Schmobvs! Speaking of doing massive amounts of Levitra®-laced angel dust and getting sloppily she marred by Babar, this week is National Motally Rotally Rodney Roo Week! Be sure to pick up a bag of peanuts and fashion them into anal beads and literally go fuckadee-fuck yourself, you effing Rik-Rik Rikki Rackmans! Bang your fucking head on these balls, you fucking butt-ratastic flabbergastrical bypassing ass-clown Bobby Brown bunny sunny day real estate masturbating wenweio3489ecdbnzxci8anmaw3eisdjsdbvq3w98sdjZ ksdmsysdksed8((mweksy3mOnsi8r) dn493bsd89s!!!!!!???!!!!?!?!!! Ratzo Rizzo!

You'll have to pardon Peabs. Bodney Sue shat on my winky-woo this morn and, because of Winn Dixie, it's made me antsy and dancing nancies! Peabs in every direction! Muhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

No really, oh pleabs of Peabs. I'm actually rather Fab Morvan! Blame it on the rain or the cocaine, but I haven't felt this rigatoni boney-maroni since Chef Boyardee licked my tees and easy-cheesed Betsy Ross' buttfloss with bisghetti sauce!! Lest we forget the Great Spooge of '75, when Coz and myself simultaneously ejaculated on each respective cast member of "Barry Lyndon." Remember that effing hotness, Bill Cosby?

"Youuuuuuu seeeee, Dizzzzzzzeeeeeeee Rascal flazzumed his prickly prick into Kubrick's knickerbocker wicker rocker! Flozzle bozzle mozzle movs, I'm gonna shatspadat 'cuz my name is Coz!!"

I have no fucking clue what I'm talking about.

Doesn't change the fact that Peabs is a fucking genius. She mars. When my moneyshot hits your eye like a big Peabs-a-pie, that's, well, my fucking hot load on your mizz. Duhvs.

More later, when I become more inspired. And by inspired, what Peabs really means is when I'm high on BenGay® and special K and getting my testes sucked upon by a nestie full of Westies! Gobbly gobbly goo goo goo!

Obvs n '05™.

Hush Little Baby, Don't Say A Word, I'm Gonna Cram My D™ Down Your Esophagus.

2005-03-01T10:11:00.000-05:00

Spank me gently, you fuckface sack-licking mo-mos, 'cause Peabs is ready for some hottt butt-love! Oh, you haven't been brutally assfucked in decades? Fearn't, you effing borscht-loving jerkoffs. Your gorgeous President is more than Happy Scrappy Hero Pup to blow my cold beet soup all over your Isaac Mizrahi (dollup of sour cream included, snatch). And if you feel as though that is unsatisfactory, Dr. Bill Cosby will gladly tickle your labbie-lab with a dill pickle and a can of Tab®. Tab®. Muhhhhh. Reminds Peabs of 1985 while on the set of "Brazil", when yours effing truly freebased a rather lethal hybrid of pentazocine, an 8-ball of Yo-Yo Ma, and the pubic hair of Jonathan Pryce. Needless to say, the concoction made Peabs feel quite serengeti Dave Righetti ooh-jah boo-jah botally boo boo Berry-Berry Kix® all mixed up, don't know want to do, 311-stizz. So I had Rodney Roo go fetch something that would make my pretty fucking ass hallucinate something Raggedy Ann in order to sober up. And yes, that's the last time you'll hear the words "sober up" come out of Peabs' lippie-poos. But it certainly isn't the last time I'll gargle your Venetian secretions and spit them in your GoBot™ tater tots, Major Mo! Bovs splashed all over your tees, Walter Kornbluth.

Oh yeah, Tab®. Almost forgot. The somewhat gullible, yet magnificently Sammo Hung like a horse a horse of course of course, Rodney Roo thought that the fagtastic Soda Popinski was actually LSD. Alas, poor Roo.

But like Mindy Cohn always said to Peabs when I was face-down in her Honey Bunches of Oats®: "you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and then you have my benevolent vagina thrusting against your gob." Being a brilliant engineer, I was able to fashion the pop can into a life-size statue of Ms. Pac Man receiving a John Wilkes Booth from both J.R. and Patrick Ewing. And you wonder why the Hoyas lost to 'Nova in the '85 national championship game. Or who shot J.R., for that Mats Wilander. Shmears. More like a smoking hot moneyshot of my jazzum-snot, Hagman! Ratzo Rizzo!

Anything you care to add, Coz? You've been relatively Silent All These Years today.

"Yoooooooouuuu seeeee, Peabs, I am not Dizzee Rascal. Contrary to the prairie dogs that burrow around my round-robin flazzum-flozzum, Dizzee is actually a rootin'-tootin' Rasputin gluten-free busy-bee! Bizzopplebop!"

Umm, duh.

And you thought I didn't have it in me to stay this brills for so long. Mars. The only thing I have in me is your mother's milk-warm tonguey-tongue, firmly placed in between my Maurice Cheeks, swirly-swirling Round and Round like Ratt. Schmobvs.

Obvs in '05™.

Kitty Kat!! Get Off The Island!!

2005-02-24T09:21:00.000-05:00

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!

Castrated Incorporated.

2005-02-22T11:00:00.000-05:00

Hi cutie! You wanna lappy-lap up Peabs' pre-jazz off of my Rod Carew and make a worldwide fad diet out of it? The answer is schmobvs. It's unfortch most of you mo-mos don't realize how many of those unnecessary ell-bees you'd take off by simply sucking my fucking D™. So please, by all means slobber away, you effing slutwhores! Yeah, just like that, baby. Tastes like USDA-choice 'roo, doesn't it? Bovs splitter-splattered all over your effing tatters! I bet you'd love for Peabs to Chute my Ladder all over those tees, eh Milton Bradley? Duh.

There are few things your loyal President hasn't done, and I am not afraid to admit such. Certainly Peabs has been one to spasm-jasm my spyro-gyra into Elmira's coffee (she takes it black; muhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!) and shat toffee into David Klingler's Debra Winger. But this does not change the fact that yours effing truly has never taken a burly Buckaroo Banzai up the Erie Canal for a gondola ride, despite what recent tabloids have been printing. Okay, sure, I might've ingested some 714's, ripped off my custom leather assless chaps and had Dr. Bill Cosby stick a lubed digit up my Moondoggie while Peabs Ocean Spray®'d my Wavy Gravy across the lips of PETA members, but I can explain my actions. You see, Peabs loves animals (duhvs, I'm both a kangaroo and turkey - gobble!) just as much as the next guy; but what I love even more is my Gucci™ buttplug made from the pubic hairs of several gay possum. And apparently there are some fucking agenda-hungry, Vegan Rebecca Romaine-lettuce munchers out there who feel that this is disrespectful to the opossum, claiming that they have already been persecuted enough for their sexual orientation by legions of other phalanger. So effing what if they packed more Superfudge than Judy Blume? Shmears! Personally, if I were a homosexual possum, I'd be more than happy to donate my skin to create sex toys for drugged-out supermodels who think they're President of the United States! Ivca¹.

Be that as it may, I've had PETA activists all up in my ooh-jah all weekend, and it's quickly putting them near the top of my list of people Peabs wants to billyclub over the head with a sterling David Silver Slik Willy². Luckily, Rodney Roo had been exclusively smoking levo alphacetylmethadol with PETA President Vag Snatcherstein, so he was able to convince her that my pretty ass should be the least of her worries. She should be concerned with Dave Pirner, what with all of that effing mayonnaise and lack of relevant music in his fucking hair. Lest we forget he's also eunuch. I would know. I'm a doctor. Hey Dave, Dr. Peabs wants somebody to shove their cock down Anne Rice's thrizz, Le Stat! And that somebody is me. Isn't that right, Bill Cosby?

"Yoooooouuu seeeee, Peabs, even Dizzee Rascal thinks your last post was Kibbles 'n Bits 'n Bits and rizzle rits on the Riddler's tits compared to this glizzum glitz! Flazzum!"

You all want to have sex with me³.

Obvs in '05™.

¹Fuck, my cacoethes loquendi and neologisms make you want to shit on my face and call me Omnilord of VaginaLand, you fucksticks. Ratzo Rizzo!

²Don't even get me started on Women's Lib, Leslie Bibb or Adam's Rib, for fuck's sake. Though Peabs must say, Ms. Bibb once fingerbanged my asshole so shats boombies, I thought she was going to jumpstart my boo-jah like a petty car thief on mescaline. Mars.

³Duh.

Surprise Surprise, Beef Brisket In Disguise!

2005-02-15T11:34:00.000-05:00

Tiz is very much like Peabs' friend Rodney Roo. Both have a distinct appreciation for all things ooh-jah; each can put down a liter of Beefeater faster than Dr. Bill Cosby can assfuck Jared Fogle with a foot-long sweet-onion chicken teriyaki sub from Subway® (eat fresh! muhhhhhhhhhhhh! eat me!); and both men have a fondness for beef brisket. Schmobvs. Howevs, El Tiz loves beef brisket more than his uncle Maury Povich, whereas Rodney Roo prefers to donkey doo doo his Portia De Rossi all over his Bob Fosses. Be that as it may, it doesn't even fucking compare to the amount of flunitrazepam I gave Cito Gaston last night, just to get a taste of his hot Toronto Blue Jay. I was so effing Tinky-Winky kinky, the entire population of Yonge Street shat their toonies out of their canuckular veins and spackle-dackled cat valium into their Molson-soaked testes, eh! Mars she all over your effing fries smothered in vinegar and gravy, you fucking hosers! Ratzo!

How was your fucking Valentine's Day, you Cupid-fucking mo-mo King Jaffe Joffers? Did you fingerbang your father for a smokie-dokie snackie-poo of Peabs' totally motally rotally roo? I thinkn't. Doesn't change the fact that yours effing truly wants to be your valentine. And by "be your valentine" I really mean Peabs would luvvvvv to rubby-rub my Rooster Cogburn all over your Eula Goodnight and disarm you with a smile. I'll cut rails like you want me to, Billy. And then snort them with so much gusto, Michael Musto would be spank-a-danking in the corner, screaming Peabs' name at the top of his Village Voice. Oh Peabs!! Blow it on my out-of-date lenses! Bovs.

You don't even seem phased anymore, oh dear pleabs of Peabs. It's as though you've become immune to the epidemic that is Peabs. Could it be perhaps because my hot rod Cape Cod bod carries a strain of Hep-C that is more defunct than Daft Punk? I understand. From now on, I shan't speaketh or sayeth or gobbleth in ways which do not effect your psyche, but in ways that will sodomize your senses like Rocco Siffredi blows moneyshots in the ready, willing, Cane and Able faces of fancy ladies. Translation: before every post, Peabs The Great shall dissolve a sheet of blotter acid into a vat full of Thallium Dysprosium Dioxide (TlDyO2), teabag my Oolongs into said vat, freebase some crack out of a DivaCup™, and write utterly brills prose that makes Hemmingway look like Eric Da Re. Leo no! Leo no! Obvs.

It's the dawning of a new day!!! I want to assure you, my people, that you get nothing but 100 percent Peabs 100 percent of the time! Coz, don't you think my new approach to things will improve the overall reading experience here at SSTP?

"Yooooouuuu seeeee, Dizzee Rascal has become the ascot-wearing mascot of the University of Flazzum at Little Rock! Gooooooooooo Flizzums!"

My genius is flowing like fucking Mount Etna. And speaking of mounting Etna, why don't you bring your cute l'il Abner over to your beautiful leader and let me toss your salad. How else is my emaciated A gonna get my calories? Obvs, via your butt-leakage, you filthy fucking sloot. Oh, you don't dig on the Pacific Rim? That's fine. You can make it up to Peabs by snowballing Dr. Bill Cosby and jerking off Bodney Sue's rigga-rigga with some l'alba, l'alba, rinforza il petto sulle vostre coscie! Oh, and while you're at it, throw on some Norah Jones. Ain't nuttin' gets me in the pure moods like you Raviing my Shankar and cumming away with Peabs. Well, besides Fozzie The Bear's hott tongue on my D™. Wacca-waccobvs!

Unlike pimpin', Peabsin' is easy. Duh.

Obvs in '05™.

Cosby Comes Forward! And All Over Your Effing Mizz, You Slooty-Sloot!

2005-02-10T15:20:00.000-05:00

Last evening on Fox News, Dr. Bill Cosby's accuser, Tamara Green, publicly stated how Coz drugged her ugly A and then "touched [her] inappropriately." And while my sidekick and Vice President was not there to defend himself, we here at SSTP would like to take the time to say that Ms. Green got it all wrong. He did not drug her "lunch." It was her dessert; a Jell-O® Pudding Pop, to be exact. And Coz did not leave her "two $100 bills on the coffee table." It was more like three bucks and a half-filled Dixie® cup of his jazz. Bovs. Furthermore, she also had the audacity to claim that he violated her in "worst possible way." Now let's be shmears here, folks. "Worst possible way?" What the fuck does that mean? Did he give you a dirty sanchez, using the diarrhea of a SIDS-ridden newborn, Ms. Green? Did he blumpkin you with your bloody tampon and make you call him Prince Playtex®? I think not. If anything, you got off scot-free. Millions of women out there would've loved to have been in your shoes, getting a chance to feel the Coz's manifest destiny all up in their Guy Ritchie. Shmears!

Be that as it may, Peabs is still rather proud of Dr. Bill. This incident occurred well before we became inseparable compadres, and it's good to see that the man was acting "inappropriately" even way back then. So with that, yours effing truly, your "hipster doofus" of a President (thanks to Anonymous for the compliment!) and his loyal, molester friend, Cosby, wish you a weekend filled with phencyclidine, rimjobs and John Wilkes Booth. Anything you'd like to add, Coz?

"Yooooooouuuuu seee, Dizzee Rascal is the king of the castle! And I am the queen of Diana Ross & The Supremes! Flazzum in the name of flizzum!"

Schmobvs.

Obvs in '05™.

Vatican Rhymes With "Shat On My Face Again." Obvs.

2005-02-09T11:15:00.000-05:00

If there's anything we as the human race can agree on, it's that we all love Thai hookers. They're just so sultry and dirty and diseased; and I, Peabs, have no problem confessing my undying love for participating in unprotected, unlubed assbanging with three or twelve of them at a time. Schmobvs. Now don't start getting all high and mighty on your fucking President, you effing genital-warted cockharlot fuckass slutbags. You know you love these beautiful creatures, too, so don't be afraid to admit that shit. Oh, you're afraid your wife is gonna find out? You fucking pussy! I'll write you a fucking pardon. Hope you didn't forget: I'm the President – Peabs does it all the time. Shit, just the other day I had to pardon a skagged-out Rodney Roo for flying a plane into the living room of Columbian Vice President Gustavo Bell, and holding his family hostage with a double-sided dildo made out of smoked Gouda until they paid him an unlimited supply of meximelts. Apparently my good friend thought Gustavo was the founder of Taco Bell®. Dumb fucking 'roo. I guess all marsupials can't be as motherfucking brills as your effing truly. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby, you fucking rapist!?

"Yoooooouuu seeeeeee, it was Dizzee Rascal who fondled Piston Honda with a flazzumberry gasmcherry! Bazzum!"

Uh huh. Sure it was, Heathcliff. Don't fritter and fret, my friend. Peabs believes you, you Big John Studd you. Robvs.

In related news, Peabs was doing bongtokes of opium-laced Vioxx® with Pope John Paul last weekend when he admitted to me (in stoned confidence, which incidentally doesn't mean jack fucking shit, duhvs) his fascination with the aforementioned Thai hookers. So I felt it would be a good idea for Bodney Sue and Ratzo Rizzo to round up some Bangkok whores, snag a kilo of some potent blow and turn the Vatican into my personal effing brothel. Little did Peabs know that PJP would endlessly beg for his face to be shat upon for the remainder of the night. Lest we forget that the man blew so many rails of Alfie and started convulsing so heavily that he made the love child of Muhammad Ali and Michael J. Fox look stiffer than Justin Guarini during a confessional with Archbishop Chester McNamblavich XIV. Schmobvs.

Needless to say, what I learned from my little binge in VC is that all Catholics love to have their respective faces shit upon. Which is only fair since they, in turn, shit on everyone's face themselves. Especially little boys. Not that there's anything wrong with a little pedophilia now and then. Shmears. Just yesterday, upon circle-jerking to "Home Alone 2: Lost in New York," Coz and myself invited the entire Culkin family over for some marshmallowy treats and fistfucking goodness. Damn, that Rory's got a mouth that makes a dentureless Jessica Tandy look like Mufasa! Mmmmmmm, Mufasa. Remember when Peabs hakunaed your matatas? Sir Elton may have been feeling your love that night, but Peabs was feeling something else. And that "something else" was your big villainous lionhood all up in my ooh-jah! Mark your President's words when I say that bestiality is back in a big way in 2005! Bovs on your effing mane, Simba! Rawrrrrrrrr!!!

Muhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I'm really kidding. Well, for the most part. What the fuck would you do about it if I weren't? Peabs is more untouchable than Eliot Ness. Howevs, I do highly suggest you touch me. Preferably on my D™. Or just tickle my sweet A with a sweet pickle. I think it's excellent! Sweet Pickles is great!

That's not the only thing that's great. Yup, that's right. Peabs is great. So great, in fact, that from now on all future Presidents will be known as _________ the Great. I'm so fucking revolutionary. It's clear you want to rimmy-rim my anus and call me Christ. I don't blame you. I do it to myself on a daily basis. Why don't you fucks try to crucify my fucking ass? Huh? Yeah, I didn't think so, you effing jaggoffs. Shmears.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Happy Ass Wednesday! Be sure to shmear the insides of a day-old paczki all over your buttplug and think of Peabs while you eff your boo-jah! Hogsviously.

Obvs in '05™.

My Spidunkadunk Makes Your Vagina Look Like Phil Donahue!

2005-02-07T14:09:00.000-05:00

Kiss Peabs, I'm Irish. And by kiss, I mean ess my fat D™ and milk my prostate with a gerbil name Herbie The Love Gerbil, you filthy fucking slutwhore. I was having passionate buttsex with trannie sailors in India when you were still wetting the bed and fingerfucking your grandmother just for some fucking oatmeal raisin cookies. And Peabs knows what you did with those cookies, you sick and twisted fucks! Shame on you. Luckily yours effing truly is a very forgiving individual. I make Buddy Ackerman look like your fucking bi-curious, HIV-pos sister, face down in the muffy muff of Rodney Roo! Mars she on your fucking Dynamic Theory of Gravity, Tesla! You know what the fucking sign says? Muhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Obvs. I'm a fucking sage.

So how was your weekend, oh pleabs of Peabs? Did you sit around and snort lines and get your salad tossed? Peabs did. Did you tape nasty, dirty sex conversations with some skank-ass Bubba Ho-Tep? Nope, that would be my good friend Dr. Bill Cosby (well, vice versa, but whatevsdotorg). Personally, I don't see what the big fucking deal is. Coz is the Vice President of the United Effing States of motherassfucking America; he should be allowed to drug and sexually assault anyone he pleases! Shmears.

Now before you get all Gloria Steinem on Peabs, realize this: I do not advocate sexual assault towards just women. If my man Cosby wants to go out and pick up some Liberace at a local glory-hole establishment, feed him a bunch of Gama Hydroxybutyric Acid and dildo-club him over the head like a wet dolphin, he should be able to do so. Why? Because he's a politician. And politicians can do whatever they fucking want.

Case in point? Peabs. Duh.

Just yesterday, I was freebasing some Catha Edulis on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial... while giving an Abe Lincoln to a D.C. cop! And did Peabs get arrested? Fuck no. I did get a phone number, though. Darlene, you're certainly getting a ringy-ding latro because Peabs hasn't been blown like that since 1849, Gold Rush-stizz. Well, except for you, my lovely Indira. Ain't nuthin' beats that sweet sweet way you gargle my man-spit and call me Младенец. And you're not even Russian! You are a fucking whore, though. Peabs' whore. Boo-jah!

Hey Coz!? You gonna let all this bullshit get you down?

"Yooooooouuu seeeee, Dizzee Rascal feels I should flazzum the fluffin with a blueberry muffin, and spizzum the fussin' with a bozzle of Tussin!"

That makes no effing sense, Coz. Mars. Maybe you should take a few days off and rethink what you just said. Here's some inspiration; perhaps watching multiple yous will make you realize that you're starting to lose it.

I'm just joking! You're still my favorite. But you're not the best. Peabs is the best. At everything. What's that, Muhammad? Oh, you wrote the Koran? Prove it, bitch. Peabs wrote that shit with my pre-jazz on Post-It® notes when I was 4 months old. You call yourself a theologian? Malcolm-Jamal Warner is more a theologian than you'll ever be, you fucking hack! Dude, SHMEARS.

Offended yet? Good. I needed to step it up a notch. Tomorrow's topic: the Pope's obsession with Thai hookers and hot carls. You all wonder why the motherfucker shakes so much. Schmobvs.

Obvs in '05™.

Bart Jemima: Professional Kangaroo.

2005-02-02T08:36:00.000-05:00

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.

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

2005-01-28T11:43:00.000-05:00

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.

2005-01-25T10:48:00.000-05:00

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.

2005-01-21T11:10:00.000-05:00

Bovs.

Obvs in '05™.

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

2005-01-19T13:20:00.000-05:00

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.

2005-01-13T13:26:00.000-05:00

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.

2005-01-10T11:56:00.000-05:00

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.

2005-01-05T11:49:00.000-05:00

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.

2005-01-03T13:34:00.000-05:00

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™.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow.

2004-12-21T23:26:00.000-05:00

You have all been very, very bad boys and girls this year, and alas, Santa Peabs must spank each and every one of you fucking handjobs with an unlubed dildo until you confess how naughty you've been. Bovs. And don't try to tell yours effing truly that you've been a good little boy, girl, trannie, etc. If there's one thing I know for sure - and Peabs knows everything, duhvs; I'm more ominiscient than God, pretty much because I am God; therefore I'm more ominiscient than myself, obvs - it's that this has become a run-on sentence. Oh, and that in the past year I have become so motherfucking influential on society that each and every one of you have become dirty, filthy douchebags. And I am proud of it. Not to mention the fact that Peabs is proud to be sporting a 14 foot D™. Stick that in your mouth and smoke it, you cocksucking ooh-jahs! No, really, please do. The way you ess my effing D™ reminds me of the time I bukkaked a coked-up Cloris Leachman at the premiere for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Damn, that fucking slutbag's got a mouth only rivaled by Paul Oakenfold and a Brontosaurus on crystal meth. Shmears.

It's pretty effing schmobvs that 2004 was a great year for just about everyone, and Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly feel rather responsible for it. Simply put, we made your lives much more interesting by giving you a bird's eye view of our everyday occurrences. Duhvs. Just think about the year Peabs had and what you've been able to experience second-hand via my brilliant fucking prose...

Peabs:

was elected President.

assfucked countless amounts of hookers. Not to mentioned blew a hot nut down their ready, willing and able throats.

did enough cocaine to jumpstart the mid-1980's. Skag, too.

was kidnapped by Elvin from The Cosby Show, only to be saved by Joe Lieberdurst, wearing a dildo on his forehead.

retired, then made a genius comeback, because quite frankly you needed it, you effing handjobs.

blew lines of K off of Indira Gandhi's bozzletovs while bovsing her respective post-mortum tees.

created a homoerotic rapping alter ego named DJ Orange Julius.

slept 12 minutes.

gobbled. A lot.

talked about pretty I am. A whole lot. Shmears, look at me. You would too if you had a bod like this. But you don't. So get on your effing knees and step up to the mic, you fucking mo-mos.

rejuvenated Coz's career by feeding him crank and teabagging his mizz.

loved each and every one of you. With my hot and juicy D™. Obvs.

It has been my pleasure to serve you, my lovelies. Next year will prove to be even more effing tigs shats to the boombies. I will strive to be the best Peabs I can possibly be. It will be difficult, because I am rather amazing as it is. And fucking gorgeous. Lest we forget that if you do shots of my jazzum, it'll cure tooth decay and give your skin and nice healthy glizz. Robvs.

So with that, I wish you and yours the happiest of holidays and all that shit. Me? I plan to spend it with my loved ones; and by loved ones, I mean Peabs and Bill Cosby plan to barricade ourselves (Howard Hughes-stizz, snatch) in a penthouse suite with a kilo of blow and a slew of HIV-pos call girls. Mars. I'm fucking beautiful.

Anything you'd like to add, Coz?

"Happy flazzum flozzum! Don't forget to bozzle the bizzle bop!"

Until next year, kindly lick my testes. Yeah, baby, just like that. Mmmmmmmm.

Obvs in '05™.

Peabs Likes His Coffee Black And His Assfucking Raw And Unprotected.

2004-12-14T13:46:00.000-05:00

I honestly can't imagine living in a world in which Peabs, dressed to the effing nines in custom-made Roberto Cavalli, couldn't step out of my multi-million dollar brownstone and be greeted by countless call girls, all of which want to desperately spike my pretty veins with skag and gummy gum my fucking D™. This is why I became your President, ladies and gentlemen; Peabs wants everyone to be able to experience what I feel to be the "American Dream." And no, I'm not talking about Dusty Rhodes, you fucking suckjobs. In the next four years, Peabs, with the help of the ubiquitous Dr. Bill Cosby, will make sure that each and every single day you live will contain a least a tiny slice of heaven that yours effing truly experiences every single fucking dizz. This could mean an extra gram of blow is added to your daily habit, so relish in it! Or better yet, you might just receive a good old-fashioned prostate massage from a pre-op trannie named Fancy Ass McTesticles upon immediate request! Everyone will benefit!

Peabs is like effing Santa Claus - not only do I give gifts, I also have a red nose from blowing so many effing rails of snow. Lest we forget I have a fascination with buttfucking elves in the back of my sleigh while Donner and Blitzen lick my Joe Sakic with their hot reindeer tongues. Mars she all over your 'Spirit of Christmas Tees', Jacob Marley! Obvs.

So my real question is this: since Peabs is a "people's President," I want to know not only what you want for Christmas, but what you want from the Obvs in '04™ Cabinet the next four years. Feel free to comment or email President Peabs. And don't be shy, you fucking dildos! If you want me to dress up like Rodney King and beat myself over the head with a Mag-Lite®, don't hesitate to ask. If you want Cosby to hardboil his testicles and cook you a ~~Cobb~~ Coz salad, he'll be glad to do so. Schmobvs.

Personally, the gift I'm asking for (from my gorgeous self, snatch) is a rimjob from Beatrix Potter; and boviously she'll refer to Peabs as Peter Rabbit every time she comes up for air. Duhvs. I won't even go into detail as to what Coz wants. Let's just say it involves a gerbil, the theory of relativity and Stedman Graham. Yummy.

Ho ho fucking ho!

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

How Many Licks Does It Take To Get To The Center Of My Effing Sack?

2004-12-13T13:25:00.000-05:00

The answer is infinite. Obvs. Peabs packs more meat than Abe Froman. I also look devastingly handsome in a white tee shirt and sweater vest. Though, let's be honest here folks. You wouldn't fucking catch Peabs dead in said white tee shirt unless it was either Versace couture or made entirely out of angel dust. She mars all over your children of the stars, Shawn Mullins! And bee tee dubs, Shawn, everything is not gonna be alright unless the "rockabye" you speak of is the rock I buy from your fucking toothless crackwhore mother in exchange for a dirty sanchez and bucket of oatmeal. Bozzle!

So yesterday I was felating my houseboy Chavez when it Memut Okur'ed to Peabs that not only was I rather gorgeous, but also felating my houseboy Chavez. I also realized, with help from a skagged-out Coz, that Chavez was actually Julio Ceasar Chavez, the former boxing champion. I'm not terribly sure just exactly how he became Peabs' houseboy, but my guess is that it had something to do with the fact that on Election Night, an armadillo named Willow (sooooo cute!) fed me some LSD and MDMA, thus causing your gorgeous President to repeatedly say:

"Touch my fucking sack... shmears. Touch it again. Oh lord, I think I'm gonna spunk it on your forehead, Martinez!"

Maybe it's just Peabs, but the holidays seem to make me even more brills than usual. I blame the blow-laced eggnog. Obvs.

More lates. Your grandmother's calling from the other room, and she's begging to fingerfuck my asshole. Better tend to that before I nut my pretty self just thinking about old Mildred and her calcium-deficient digits probing my ooh-jah. Boo-jah!

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

Happiness Is A Warm Peabs.

2004-12-07T15:44:00.000-05:00

This morning, a noticeably tweaked-out Dr. Bill Cosby came to yours effing truly with a proposition: upon our inauguration in January, we must transform the National Institutes of Health into the world's largest meth lab. Personally, Peabs felt this was Coz's best idea since the time he suggested we inject some fentanyl into our gobble gizzards and sodomize the entire cast of "Blossom" with a Wascally Rabbit®. Nothing quite like seeing Jenna Von Oy take it in the ass while screaming "that's how Six likes it, baby; fuck me like a circus clown!" Razzle robvs.

The past few days have boviously been quite a blur for Peabs, not to mention that fucking crackhead Coz. Whilst it should come as no surprise to anyone that Peabs snorted countless rails of methcathinone upon giving myself a numerous amount of strangers, shockingly enough I managed to only fistfuck forty-seven slooty-sloots. It's not that Peabs is losing my libido, or my edge for that matter. For one, I felt as though I was stealing the proverbial thunder from Bill Cosby. And it's not as though Coz isn't getting an extraordinary amount of lab-maj ooh-jah all up in his bozzle-bop; it's that yours effing truly has been getting so many sloppy fozz's as of lizz that I need a bit of a change. And by "change," I really mean "dirty, sloppy handjobs." Sure, we have all had our debates on the validity of hojos as a satisfying sexual act, and I for one agree that a wicked suckjob from some coked-out stripper named Lady Cervix is far more superior than getting jay-oh'ed with a tube full of Elbow Grease®. Howevs, my good friend and long time Obvs in '04™ Campaign supporter Jory Husain made me feel otherwizz.

You might remember Jory from the incomparable '80's sitcom "Head Of The Class." What few know is that he later became a prominent figure in NAMBLA (North American Man/Boy Love Association), and then founded YO-JOE! (You Oughta Jerk Off Everybody), an organization devoted to the search for the perfect handjob. He's also a raging crack addict and from time to time dresses up like a Native American and uses tampons as paintbrushes to apply his "war paint." Ugh. Be that as it may, the man can certainly find a tigs shats to the boombies HJ, and he decided that as a present from YO-JOE for winning the Presidential election, Peabs and Coz would receive the "Best Hand-Job In Town." Bovs on your effing tees, Alicia Keys.

So with that, my gorgeous self and my almost-as-pretty-and-wacked-out-on-cocaine Cabinet hopped in the Lear and flew to the UK, where apparently hojos are more common and deemed "brilliant." My guess is because the average British prostitute's teeth are so effing mangled that any self-respecting mo-mo wouldn't want her effing gingivitis anywhere near his A-Rod. Schmobvs.

Needless to say, I was personally treated to an effing ridunc-a-dunc HJ from a young lass who went by the name of Mistress Von Kajagoogoo. To say it was miraculous is an understatement; especially considering the fact that she didn't bat an eye that, upon tossing my salad, Peabs shat on her mizz and made her call me He-Man, Master of the Universe. In fact, her response was once of the kinkiest things I have ever heard muttered out of another human being's mouth:

"You like the way Orko gargles your hot shat? I want He-Man to be my own personal UPS delivery boy and ask what brown can do for Orko!"

Yes, yes, Peabs knows. Each and everyday I seem to outdo myself in my grotesque brilliance. And you know why? Because I'm fucking fascinating. Lest we forget I have a cock that makes Annette Funicello look like Frankie Fucking Muniz. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Youuuuuuuuuu've gots to know that Malcolm's flazzum is in the middle of the flizzum! Andddddd, if you bazzle his mother's bizzle, he'll shoot you with a drizzle drazzle!"

I couldn't have said it better myself. Wait, who am I kidding? Of course Peabs could have; I'm a motherfucking genius. Literally. No, shmeariously - I have an IQ of 1,492 and just fucked your mother. Mars she on your effing "Summer Breeze," Seals and Croft!

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

On Top Of Old Smokey, All Covered With Peabs.

2004-12-02T11:01:00.000-05:00

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!"

Obvs.

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

All Your Base Are Belong To Peabs.

2004-11-30T16:16:00.002-05:00

Every once in while, when Peabs isn't busy snorting lines of red rock off of the supple, bovsed-upon tees of a buxom harlot, I like to curl up with a nice warm cup of pennyroyal tea and a good book. Lately I have been reading my long-winded yet wildly-heralded classic, "Atlas Shrugged", and contemplating a possible revision, with the help of Dr. Bill Cosby (like Peabs, a best-selling author and drug abuser, snatch). Coz's suggestion is rather brills: John Galt would be renamed Mr. Flazzumpants and instead of "stopping the motor of the world", he would dedicate his life to shoving a package of Skittles® up his sugar-sweet butthole, beg Charles Atlas to toss his salad and subsequently flatulate the candies into Atlas' mizz, ordering him to "taste the rainbow", thus causing him to shrug. Bovs. Now, we all know that Peabs is the most creative (lest we forget prettiest) motherfucker on the planet; but even yours effing truly couldn't match that idea. Although, my version would hogsviously include a coked-out giraffe deep-throating Francisco d'Anconia. Bovs she marred all over your fucking shmidgie-shmadge, Mr. Super Wave Market Marrisimo. Robvs.

Speaking of totally unrelated segues, how was your fucking Thanksgiving? Did you get enough ~~turkey~~ Peabs to eat? Considering I was the only American to lose weight over the weekend, it appears as though you got your effing fill. Gobble! I spent most of my week vacationing in the Cherbourg peninsula off the west coast of France, smoking hashish and reaquainting myself with the old jism trails of yesteryear. It was there that Peabs met up with my old friend and fellow child prodigy Jordy, who, much like myself has let his stardom get the best of him. This should schmobvs come as no surprise. He was a fucking musical giant. Duh.

Needless to say, Jordy and myself had a lot of stories to swap. Obvs, Peabs had become the world's most recognized and beloved human being, and resultantly was elected President of the United States. Jordy, on the other hand, went in a different direction.

At first, the ridiculously talented vocalist seemed to be riding the waves of success towards an even brighter future. He signed a multifranc deal with the French distributor of Ocean Spray®, for which he was obligated to appear in numerous television and print ads. This apparently went quite well for the first year, though Jordy got mixed up in what most lame fucks would refer to as a "bad crowd." Me? I call them my Cabinet, but that's neither here nor there. Anywizz, Jordy had developed quite an addiction to methcathinone and was soon uncontrollably jerking off in midst of filming and referring to his jazz as his "possédez très le jet d'océan" (translation: "very own ocean spray"). Hot.

Be that as it may, Jordy sunk into a deep depression, sold away the rights to his smash hit "Dur Dur D'etre Bebe" and blew it all on drugs. Now, Peabs understands that many of you (momos) may find this story tragic, but Jordy did stage a bit of a comeback; a swan song, if will. In 1996, he created a popular inner-city game affectionately called 'Peanut-Butter Ball' and has been reaping in the royalties ever since. So with his earnings he decided to treat Peabs and Dr. Bill Cosby to an evening of kit kat-blowing and sloppy beejers at the local brothel. Sure, I know it sounds like a pretty lackadaisical night in the life of your gorgeous and fearless leader, but it was fucking Thanksgiving weekend! You try assfucking a French whore while smothered in gravy! She mars.

It pays to be the President and friends with washed-up French singers. Especially those who are 16 and addicted to a drug I've never even heard of. Wait, who am I kidding? I've done so much methcathinone, I make Johnny Unitas look like Wembley Fucking Fraggle. Ooh-jah!

I'm pretty. You have no chance to survive make your time. Obvs.

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

Gobble Fucking Gobble!

2004-11-24T13:40:00.000-05:00

Dear America,

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Celebrate by having yourselves multiple servings of Peabs. Why, you may ask? In case you have forgotten, yours effing truly is a turkey. There isn't much of Peabs to go around (duhvs), so might I suggest sampling the D™rumstick; it's oh so thick and meaty. I also propose you try me with some gravy, because I tend to get dryer than a prepubescent lesbian getting gangbanged by four Cialis®-fueled priests. Bovs. Furthermore, your Vice-President Dr. Bill Cosby assures me that he is the best tasting cranberry sauce the world has to offer. I won't even get started on how Indira Gandhi's vaggie vag tastes like pumpkin pie. Mmmmmmmm.

Happy holidays and gobble, gobble! Mars she on your effing Barnum and Bailey, you fucking circus clowns.

XOXOXO
Peabs, President-Elect of the United States.

P.S. Don't forget to wash Peabs down with many healthy lines of blow and a good old-fashioned tossed salad. And by tossed salad, I really mean get your fucking ass eaten out by Grandma, you effing dildos! Obvs.

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

Basking In The Glow Of My Sack On Your Mizz.

2004-11-23T11:50:00.000-05:00

I was teabagging W.C. Fields the other day when he quipped something rather brills:

"After you finish scraping my barnacles, we should go to the Sierra Mazateca region of Oaxaca, Mexico, do some bongrips of Salvia Divinorum and have a gay cereal party! Fruit Loops for everyone!"

Of all of the ridiculously poignant things Fields has said in his life, this seemed the most boviously pertinent. Well, besides the time Dr. Bill Cosby was massaging his prostate, prompting the dead actor to say:

"I used to milk cows like this in Iowa with Tony Danza!"

She mars.

You'll have to pardon your President today, for I believe that my morning vodka giblet has been invaded by some georgia home boy, no thanks to Coz. Maybe it's because of our recent primo smack hookup, but Cosby's been extremely gay as of late. And not so much in that "Coz likes to jack off in cabana boys' faces while he watches Cum Sucking She-Males 4" sort of way. Moreso in that "Peabs will suddenly lose consciousness, most likely due to a speedball overdose, and come to with Cosby having a three-way suck-n-fuck-fest with Waldorf and Statler from 'The Muppet Show'" sort of way. Robvs.

Which, to be quite honest, Peabs doesn't mind. I'm the fucking leader of the god damn free world, so I can pretty much do whatevs I want. Case in point, last evening Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly decided to start Thanksgiving a little early, and invited our new good friend Steve Rubell over to my spacious brownstone for some turkey - gobble, gobble! - and handjobs. I suggested we call some ~~prostitutes~~ saucy minxes in order to liven things up, but Coz felt otherwise. My running mate was so effing smacked out of his head that he thought he was Asian and continually asked me to "flazzum his ooh-jah" with Rubell's "falafel waffle." Who am I to say no to Cosby? Mars she on your effing Warren G. Regulators, mount up!

Needless to say, the evening started to get a little too homoerotic, even for Peabs. But instead of adding a little estrogen to the action, I opted to start busting rhymes as D.J. Orange Julius, my homo-rap alter ego:

Go spelunkin' in your ass-cheeks, I'm an explorer/
I wear more mascara than Rocky Horror/
so I'll give you DJ OJ's picture show/
starring a truckload of homos and a pound of blow.

All y'all dudes want to fuck my A/
there ain't a hotter cocksucker than DJ OJ/
I'm like Kid 'n Play, but I ain't hetero/
I'd rather toss a fag's salad than fuck a ghetto 'ho, yo.

Yo, I'm about to started/
I'll fuck you so hard, I'll make you retarded/
like a mongoloid, I'm down with your syndrome/
take a polaroid of you fuckin' me with a comb/
but if you got an afro pick/
just suck this dick/
'cause I'm hotter than a plate of effing Pad Prik.

I swear, nothing gets a party hotter than gay flow, yo. Well, except maybe a QP of dimethyltryptamine, my D™ blowing a hot lizz down your sister's esoph and some smooth jazz. And by smooth jazz I mean Sade, not my man-juice, you fucking perverts. Bovs on your effing foreskins, you uncircumcised cockfaces. Boo-jah!

You oh so very much want to be Peabs. Duh. No shame in wanting to be gorgeous and brilliant and hung like the Redwood Forest. Lest we forget that, to the gulf stream waters, this land was made for you and Peabs.

I'm fucking ridiculous. Obvs.

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

Barbitual Offender.

2004-11-18T14:51:00.000-05:00

Peabs has never been one to shy away from the press. In fact, I rather love the attention, because I am quite the attention whore. And why shouldn't I be? I'm fucking fascinating. She mars all over your hotel mini-bars.

That being said, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly attended a gala event last evening in the heart of Manhattan, gossip columnists seemingly everywhere. While most men of my stature may tend to behave conservatively in such an environment, Peabs felt it was necessary to pop a bunch of barbituates, stick a turkey baster full of liquid hydrogen and mothballs in my sweet sweet asshole and give everyone an effing show. Cosby tried to one up me, dressing up like Woody Woodpecker and referring to himself as the "Flying Dutchman," pecking fellow partygoers with his "beak" and attempting to light a crackpipe with his flatulence. Needless to say, it was a fucking sight to see, the two of us. For added measure, we each rented gay escorts, who went by the names JuJu Fruit and Sour Patch Mo-Mo. The look on Lloyd Grove's face was fucking priceless. But much of that had to do with the GHB I slipped in his Cosmo, and the raw, unlubed handjob being given to him all night by a visibly methed-out Matt Drudge. Bovs.

Speaking of those two: who knew that those fucking dildo-fuckers could effing party? Mars she! When I first announced my candidacy for President back in January, Dr. Bill Cosby advised that we should hire a spin doctor in order to influence certain reporters. This somewhat made sense to Peabs, considering my life is pretty much consumed with blowing cocaine with herpes-infested slutbags and wearing Versace cockrings. With that, we hired former 80's heartthrob Richard Grieco as a consultant to the Obvs in '04™ Campaign. While his turn in the television series "Booker" was boviously magical, this was certainly the man's true calling. Pretty soon, we had every newsman in our back pocket. Howevs, Grieco never gave away his secret. Certainly the press releases he would edit and submit to the media well extremely well-written and efficacious, but we knew there had to be something more. Last night, our questions were answered. Not to mention my ass was eaten out like a Sunday Buffet by this Amish model named Robert. Schmobvs.

Anyway, Drudge and Grove found Coz and my pretty self so engaging that they wanted to follow us to our afterparty. I suspected it was because they needed fodder for today's column. Little did Peabs know it was because they were having a secretive, erotic affair with one Richard Grieco.

Cosby and I ditched the boytoys and hightailed it to Grieco's apartment on the lower east side. Richard was waiting for us, seemingly spaced out on speedballs and quoting old Peter Deluise lines from "21 Jump Street." I immediately started injecting skag into my testicles, still a little tweeked from the crank Peabs had been snorting since 1986. Drudge kept asking Cosby if he could be his teacher and give him a "Report" card, to which Coz kept responding:

"Noo, but you can razzle my bozzle bizzle!"

Grove was on the phone most of the time, presumably with Liz Smith. That fucking mo-mo complained about the lack of marijuana the second he walked in the door, and who better to call for some effing bud than Liz? Fucking pussy. Who even smokes pot anymore? She mars. Maybe if it's laced with embalming fluid, then I might let you ooh-jah my boo-jah. Lightweight.

That being said, it was my goal to get Lloyd Grove so fucking messed up that he would misspell my name in his next gossip column (you know, since he's never done that before). So I slipped some methylenedioxymethamphetamine in his single-malt and made him tell me he how he wanted to love Peabs. To be honest, I didn't think I would get this particular response:

"I know you know about my little fling with Matt and Dickie, but you're just like sooooo cute. You know, when I was 14, I used to masturbate into my mother's bras thinking it would be a good story; which is part of the reason why I really, truly enjoy the way Drudgey-Wudgey teabags me with his donkey like nutsack. But your aura... can you imagine if we procreated? I can see the headlines: Fucking Douchebag Fucks President And Has His Children! It would be amazing. What the eff did you put in my drink anyway, Peabs? I really wish you would suck on my nipples and call me Elsie right now..."

Grieco must suck some mean motherfucking cock, because none of this showed up in the media today. Of course, last time I checked, Grove was still dancing to Tiesto and making Drudge give him multiple blumpkins. Ahhh, the power of the press. Bovs on your effing Pepperridge Farm® stuffed tees, you fucking turkeys! Gobble!

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

Pardon Me, But Do You Have Any Gay Poupon?

2004-11-17T13:00:00.000-05:00

Shmears. Being President-elect has quite a few perks. This last week, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly took full advantage of being the leaders of the Free World by participating in acts abnormal to the common man. Whilst it has always been rather easy for Peabs to score a number of illegal narcotics, the ability to regularly obtain some tigs shats to the boombies ketamine has haunted me like my HIV-positive Filipino baby's mama. Bovs. For the record, I do not claim Zing-Zang to be my son; howevs, he keeps me in good opium and his sister Christian has a vagina that makes Marie Osmond look like Adrian Zmed on the raggie rag. Bovs on your motorin' tees, Night Ranger.

Anyway, many people from my past have been coming out of the woodwork since my recent election into office, one of which is former baseball great Gaylord Perry. For those of you unaware, Perry retired from baseball and decided to pursue his lifelong dream of being the head of the American Veterinary Medical Association (AVMA). Some experts say it was because of his undying love of animals, but Peabs hogsviously knows the real truth - that motherfucker loves his special K. In fact, when I used to be a relief pitcher for the San Diego Padres in 1978, Perry was the ace of our staff and once claimed to Peabs in confidence that he had been in a K-hole since he won the Cy Young award in '74. Coincidentally, Peabs was also (and still is, snatch) very much into horse tranquilizers and their dissociative effect, and I told Gaylord that Peabs would one day be President and need his help scoring some jet. My old friend certainly did not disappoint. Schmobvs.

Upon order, Cosby instructed Perry to meet us at one of our many clandestine Obvs in '04™ Campaign meth labs in the Midwest. Little did Peabs know that Gaylord was ~~quasi-dating~~ assfucking Olympic swimmer Amanda Beard, a long-time supporter of my campaign. Obvs, Ms. Beard and yours effing truly had a bit of a "fling" back in '96 - and by "fling" I really mean that I used to give her a wicked case of swimmer's ear... with my fucking jazz. Lest we forget she rather enjoyed it when I dressed up like Eeyore and cornrowed her pubes with my ooh-jah. Spobvs.

Be that as it may, we all decided to blow an assload of K and enter a little mellow, colorful wonder world we like to call the planet She-Mars. Scott Bakula was our host, while Cosby razzle-dazzled his way into every unsuspecting She-Martians' hearts. Beard asked Perry if he "had any Gay Poupon", which prompted him to shoot hot load on her effing mizz. Personally, I bovsed on the respective aliens' tees while Bakula tongued my A, forgiving himself for Necessary Roughness.

Peabs thought it was Hector Elizondo who was the weak part of that particular motion picture, but that's neither here nor there. What about you, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"I think that the flazzum rozzle was caused by the Harley Jane Kozak raffle waffle!

Obvs. How could I forget Harley Jane? She still to this day is the only woman who wanted to assfuck me for breakfast. Which is ironic, considering the fact that I am a turkey and have no ass. But I do have a gigantic gizzard. And by gizzard, I really mean cock. And by cock I really mean D™. You get the picture. Suck it. Gobble!

Oh, so you were growing a little impatient while Peabs was away on my first Presidential tour? Your life was completely useless and banal without an update on the antics of all that which is Peabs? Well, get used to it, my lovelies. I know full well that I am comparable to your first line of blow, your first rimjob; but have some fucking restraint, you effing handjobs. Don't you fritter or fret - I'm here for you. I'll jerk off in your mouth and make you call me Listerine® if I have to. I'll dress up in custom-made Theory diapers, shit myself and make you clean up my soiled drawers with a rotiserrie oven. In short, Peabs is not just your President; I am also your priest, your God, and your life. Mars she all over your Ken Caminiti.

Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!

All I Want For Christmas Is To Shove My Cock Down Your Thrizz.

2004-11-09T11:48:00.000-05:00

Dr. Bill Cosby, being of sound mind and a giant Negro dick, came home to our NYC-based loft dressed as Santa Claus last evening, hopped up on yaba and microdots. Needless to say, it put Peabs in a jolly mood; so Peabs did what I always do when I get in the Christmas spirit. Bovs. Peabs phoned longtime Obvs in '04™ Campaign supporter and reknown designer Oscar De La Renta and ordered custom assless chaps made from reindeer and the foreskin of Pablo, the forgotten Honduran 4th wise man. Oscar also gave Peabs a great idea as to how to be a hit at the upcoming holiday parties; being President-elect, I'll have to do my best to keep the attention of my fellow partygoers. So my designer friend suggested I dress up my already infamous D™ with a derby hat (that he would design, snatch) and some glasses (Prada, duh) and refer to myself as Mr. Potato Cock. Frankly, I find this idea to be fucking brilliant. Nothing says "Happy Holidays" quite like dressing up your cock like a children's toy. She mars. Coincidentally, Cosby plans to dress his manhood up as Maya Angelou. I know why the caged bird bovsed on my tees - it was fucking caged! Obvs.

Speaking of holiday parties and Maya Angelou, it should come as no surprise that the famed author and yours effing truly have quite a past. Peabs has yet another confession: at a Kwanzaa party at Mel Tormé's abode in 2001, I mistakened Maya for actress Della Reese, and she did not take too kindly to it.

Luckily, on my arm that evening was Maria Pastora, a Mexican crackwhore who was carrying a satchel full of San Pedro Cactus. What few know is that Angelou loves her peyote. What everyone knows is that Peabs does, too. All it took was a few hits of this shit and suddenly the entire cast of "Night Court" was there, dressed like the Village People and buttfucking each other to the soulful crooning of our host, Mel. You haven't experienced anything until you've seen Richard Moll do a one-"man" performance of the "Rocky Horror Picture Show", while getting dirty sanchez'd by Harry Anderson. It'll make you wanna go down on a three-year old. Schmobvs.

I know what you're thinking. I know it's six weeks until Christmas. But Peabs does not discriminate when it comes to the holidays. Fuck, Hannukah started, like, four days ago! So technically I am late. Thankfully, I have Dr. Bill Cosby here to remind me of all that which is going on in the world. Shmears, if it weren't for him (and the fact that I'm a turkey), Peabs would've had no idea that Thanksgiving is 13 days away. Or that I hid some fucking blow up my ass last night so that I'd have it for lunch today. Gobble!

Face it. You'd pay millions to artificially inseminate yourself with my jazz. But let's be honest - even the spawn of Peabs is merely a microcosmal clusterfuck of the genius that is I. Ooh-jah, boo-jah.

Storming Normandy.

2004-11-08T14:50:00.000-05:00

As inconceivable as it may seem, it appears as though the majority of the country feels as though Peabs did not win the Presidency last week. I think this is utter fucking bullshit and refuse to concede. Bovs. Therefore, Peabs shall remain your President, America, whether you effing like it or not. And to be quite frank with you, if you do have a problem with a gorgeous motherfucker like myself running your country, kindly sample a load of my hot man-sherbet, you fucking cockface mcjohnsons. Oooh-jah!

This past weekend was nothing but a celebration in honor of the Peabs and Cosby victory in last Tuesday's election. And nothing quite says "victory" like smoking some Acapulco Gold and chasing some 714's with a gallon of AC/DC. Obvs. By the middle of Saturday afternoon, Dr. Bill Cosby decided he would now go by the moniker of Davy Crockett and that it would be a good idea to fuel up the Obvs in '04™ Campaign jet and fly butt-ass naked to Pierre, South Dakota. Who is Peabs to disagree? She mars all over your granola bars, you fucking hippies.

It was in Pierre where we picked up former Senate minority leader Tom Daschle, fed him a couple of 40/40 bars and phoned some of the Dakota's finest and most respected individuals in the business of whoring. Let me tell you a little something about Tom: he's one sick motherfucker. Granda, he's not one to take a bunch of acid, shove his fist up the vaggie vag of a filthy hooker, and turn them into his own personal Muppet, Jim Henson-stizz. Not that Peabs has ever done such a thing. Okay, maybe I slipped a little bit of GHB into Jane Pauley's drink, colored her quasi-comatose face green, got elbow-deep in her snizz and made her my very own Kermit The Frog, singing "Rainbow Connection" in mixolydian for 3 straight hours. But that's all fucking hearsay. (Though Peabs must admit her voice makes Paul Williams look like, well, Paul Williams.) Schmobvs.

Needless to say, our good friend Tom was certainly looking to party upon losing his seat in the Senate. Like Peabs had mentioned before, he's a bit on the "effed side", so to speak. For instance, he always refers to himself as Daschle, which, obvs, Peabs has no problem with. Mars she, I fucking created referencing oneself in the third-person. Omniscient-stizz, snatch. I also double-teamed Merriam and Webster with a quadruple-sided dildo and a bottle of Pam®. Duhvs.

Anyway, Daschle's into extraordinarily young women. Robvs. I shan't chastise anyone who is, Coz included. What the former senator prefers, on the other hand, is a little, shall we say, unique. Christian coalitions might call it "perverted and immoral", but they get on their effing knees and pray to the altar that is my fucking D™. Bheers. Nevertheless, Daschle suggested we get some tween whores, knock off a toupeé shop, and play Sy Sperling with our young harlot friends. Oh, you've never played? Let's have Dr. Bill Cosby explain the rules:

"First you flazzum on her bazzle bozzle, then you make flizzum like she was a falafel waffle!"

Either way, all that Peabs knows is that at one point Daschle had unloaded an exhorbitant amount of jazz onto the pre-teens' respective "bald spots", which acted as glue for the stolen toupeés. The kicker was when Tom made them each say:

"I'm not only the 'Hair Club for Men' President, but I also love to guzzle Tom's ridiculously large load of jism down my hot young esophagus."

There's really nothing more I can say on that particular subject. Let's just say Peabs didn't go the whole Sy Sperling route. Instead I just let off some fireworks, assfucked each and everyone of the dirty 12-year old hoebags and made them speak to me in French as if it were D-Day. Obvs.

Did Peabs forget to mention that I'm the fucking President of the United fucking States? Well, I am. We needn't mention that I'm also a turkey. Gobble!

It sickens both you and I how fucking brilliant I am.

Your New President... Peabs.

2004-11-03T15:05:00.000-05:00

Maybe it's the mushrooms, but Peabs sure did win the election by a larger margin than expected. I thought Dubya and Kerry would at least put up a fucking fight. Mars she all over your effing Applebee's®.

Unfortunately there will be a recount, since no one seems to believe that a drug-addled supermodel who spent zero money on advertising and shamelessly spoke of smoking crack and assfucking and sodomizing prostitutes with Dr. Bill Cosby could possibly win the Presidency. But damn it, Peabs did. Bovs on your fucking Karl Roves, you effing hanging chads.

if i have made,my lady,intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes(frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind-if i have failed to snare
the glance too shy-if through my singing slips
the very skillful strangeness of your
obvs in
'04™.

Vote Obvs In '04™.

2004-11-02T14:35:00.000-05:00

My fellow Americans...

... she mars all over your effing Zanzibars. The only thing I'm cooking from there is some fucking skag, Rage Kage. Boo-jah!

Today is the day, my loyal followers: Election Day 2004. Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly would like to thank each and every one of you for the support you have given the Obvs in '04™ Campaign the last ten months. And by "thanks for the support", Peabs really means thanks for lending me your toothless grandmother Ethel so she could gummy gum my testicles before I genitally reprimand her. Schmobvs.

It has been a long and winding road, and I personally feel as though Coz and my pretty self have made quite the impression on the American public. Since our announcement to run for the Presidency, drug use in the United States has increased 176 percent. Prostitution has increased by 300 percent. And, as if that weren't enough, the amount of Abe Lincolns given to HIV-positive crackwhores has risen an astounding - you'll have to excuse Peabs, I'm tearing up just thinking about it (which, suffice to say, is most likely because I just snorted four teener-long speedball rails) - 14,000 percent. There is no denying the dizzying effect Peabs has had on our country. Bovs on your one fucking tee, Nancy Reagan.

Many of you probably wondered how Peabs spent his last evening before the election. Contrary to popular belief, I was not out trying to lobby more votes. At this point of the election, if you're going to be voting for an effing gorgeous, call girl-fucking smack fiend, you're pretty well dead set on such a decision. Obvs. So, bovs, Peabs decided to relax the night before the biggest day of my life and have a Club Sped party. Why? Because mongoloids need love too. Robvs.

I've certainly never been one to discriminate. Cosby, being the debonair Nubian he is, introduced to all sorts of flavors of chocolate throughout our friendship. My old friend, Mao, would bring over many an Asian harlot to give the old "how's your father?" to, if you know what Peabs is screamin'. Anyone who's ever read this asinine site knows about my speed-fueled ass-fest with that hot piece of Indian vagina, Indira Gandhi. Mobvs. Anyway, Coz rounded up a few down syndrome mamas and a slip 'n slide, which we soaked in liquefied cocaine.

You can probably guess what happened next. Yes, Peabs had his salad tossed. And, to be quite honest, it was some of the most meticulous and finite ass licking I had ever been a part of. Favorite part of the evening? Probs when Dr. Bill Cosby asked a young vixen who went by the name of Dahhhhhhh if she liked "doing bung tokes from the Vice President's black ass." I must say, Coz, that shit was effing hot. I couldn't help but whip out my effing D™ and snowball the first available mizz immediately!

"Yooooooooouuuuuu've gots to know that the Jell-OOOOOOO® tastes like Mello-Yello®!!!! Flazzum!"

Bovs.

So that's how Peabs spent his last night as a meager, yet wildly attractive state representative. If all goes as planned, I shall have a new job by tomorrow. Below is an early exit poll; let's hope it's reflective of the final election results:

According to this particular poll, which Cosby created during a backalley filming of a very special triple-X episode of Picture Pages, Peabs is way ahead. So ahead, in fact, that they had to give me two colors to signify the amount of votes I have received so far. Shmears.

You're doing your job, America. You're electing the right man. Well, maybe not so much the right man, but certainly the prettiest and most arrogant. Lest we forget I have a cock that makes Burt Reynolds look like Ralston Purina™. And what more do you want out of the leader of the free world? Obvs.

all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)

gush to it as diety or
obvs in
'04™.

Jack Peabs Nimble, Jack Peabs Quick.

2004-11-01T13:36:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, when you're a well-endowed, whorefucking drug addict like Peabs, you have to relive your past. The last five days or so, yours effing truly decided to do just that. And by that, I really mean that I decided it was a good idea to do some whippets and drink some Dimetapp® elixir in order to get my mind off of tomorrow's election. Mmmmmm, whippets. Some say an even better high than freebasing spackle and jerking off Dom Deluise. Ooh-jah!

It seems like just yesterday that Peabs declared myself as a candidate for the Presidency. And now it's up to you, the American jizzmopping buttfucking public, to elect my pretty self and the great Dr. Bill Cosby into office. I needn't go on about how much I am going to do for the country - that much is obvs. Nor does Peabs need to mention the flying camel I highjacked on Saturday and rode into the sunset with a young boy named Cold Lenny, who injected phosphorus into my Berry-Berry Kix®, as Coz read passages from King Hippo's Bible. Nope. Not one bit. Schmobvs.

Understandably, the Obvs in '04™ Campaign is quite busy today, trying hard to muster up as many supporters as possible for Super Tuesday. With that, remember to go out tomorrow and vote for Peabs. It's your motherfucking obligation, you effing handjobs.

More tomorrow from the campaign headquarters. Until then realize that, much like Jesus Christ, Peabs died for your sins. And by "died for your sins," I really mean I snorted a bunch of coke last night because Peabs felt slightly guilty about the raging cases of crabs I gave you when myself and Coz double penetrated and emptied our jazzum into your ripe womanhood. You know, kind of like when JC and Moses double-teamed Mary Magdalene after having a little too much turkey at The Last Supper. Gobble!

I want to beat off in your oatmeal.

Obvs in '04™.

Peabs Prefers It Sniffed, Smoked, Or Injected. Duh.

2004-10-27T13:08:00.000-04:00

Peabs recently gave an interview with The Economist in which I was asked how I take my coffee, thus the title of today's post. She mars. I take most things that way, including smack, blowjobs, and herpes. Mmmmmm, herpes. Easily the favorite son of all of my STD children. Sort of like my very own JFK, just without the fucking hole in the back of his fucking head. Bovs and to the left on your effing Camelotees, Jackie O!

Peabs knows it seems a little late in the game, but we recently picked up an endorsement that will surely do nothing but help the Obvs in '04™ Campaign come election day. Longtime Peabs supporter and professional wrestler/acting legend Rowdy Roddy Piper jumped aboard the juggernaut that is Peabs/Cosby, and we met last night to discuss many important political issues and how I would tend to them as President. For instance, few of you know that Piper is an important figure in the Neo-Christian Rimjob Organization (NeCRO), a left-wing religious sect that sees the art of salad-tossing as Scripture. Robvs. Honestly, I know only a few squares who don't believe this, but then again Peabs knows some sick fucks (I'm looking at you, George Orwell, you fucking mo-mo!). Anyway, Piper proposed that when I become President, Peabs should pass a bill proclaiming every Wednesday as "Ass Wednesday." Frankly, I couldn't agree with him more. I'd make everyday an ass-licking festivus if I could. Yeah, because Peabs certainly doesn't now. Nor do I smoke happy sticks and donkey-punch crackwhores everyday, eiths. Schmobvs.

As the night progressed and the angel dust ran low, Dr. Bill Cosby decided it would be a mantastic idea for the three of us to take some DMT-laced peyote, call some "ladies of the night" and have ourselves a little hullabaloo, "Moby Dick"-stizz. In midst of our conversation on paint-huffing hemophiliacs earlier that evening, a coked-up Piper suggested Captain Ahab as a possible Halloween costume for yours effing truly. Now, we all know that Peabs already has a semblance picked out, and it's hotter than an effing meth-fueled suckjob from a dentureless Willem Dafoe. C'est la obvs.

Howevs, Peabs must admit: Piper's explanation for the Ahab costume was effing brills. Instead of dressing up like a sailor (hey!!), you would just eff a call girl doggy-stizz, pull out, and chase after her with your harpoon-like cock. Duhvs. If Cosby didn't get such a beautiful raging black hard-on from the idea, I would've used it myself. The costume, not the beautiful raging black hard-on. Though if you feed Peabs with enough crackrock and formaldehyde, I'll be passing out hojos like a Good Humor® ice-cream man on Cialis® in the gay district of Istanbul. Gobble!

Be that as it may, as mentioned above we decided to test out the Captain Ahab costume a little early. Personally, Peabs found it to be a rousing success, as did Coz. Rowdy Roddy Piper, on the other hand, took it to a different level. After poking his lovers with his rod (Ha, get it?! Rod.), he would blow a hot one on their mizz, and then put them in the sleeper hold and Cleveland steam their dozing tees. Mind you, we here at the Obvs in '04™ Campaign have no problem with this practice. We're just not professional wrestlers. Usually when I try to put fucking diseased sluts in a sleeper hold, I end up choking them to death and buttfucking their corpses. And contrary to popular belief, even Peabs doesn't dig on necrophilia. Much. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"But I thought that youuuuuuuuuuuuuu liked to flazzum Indira Gandhi's flizzum!"

How could Peabs forget? Indira, you will forever be my muse. And, you, people of the United States of America, will forever be my ooh-jah. Boo-jah!

6 days until the apocalypse. Bovs all over your tees, America.

dead every enourmous piece
of nonsense which itself must call
a state submicroscopic is-
compared with pitying terrible
some alive individual

ten centuries of original soon
or make it ten times ten are more
obvs in
'04™.

The Following Gangbang Is Brought To You By Paul Bunyan.

2004-10-25T23:23:00.000-04:00

Hey there, sailor! I just skullfucked your mother! And bovsed on her effing nipple clamps. Robvs.

On a related note, we are reaching the final week before Super Tuesday, and things are abuzz here at the Obvs in '04™ Campaign headquarters. This past weekend, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly hired a bunch of Chilean midgets, fed them some Valrex and PCP and played Rhode Island rodeo 'til the sun came up. Then we decided to reenact the French Revolution, except with with sock puppets filled with gravy, and a young Mexican pre-op trannie named Hombre playing the part of both Marie Antoinette and Alex Sanders! It was a performance that would make Ralph Macchio fistfuck your cousin and call him Sweet Tart. While it's been rumored that no one has any fucking clue what that means, Peabs still stands by the fact that piñatas are much more fun when they're filled with smack and jazzum. She mars all over your Ringo Starrs.

In order to win the Presidency, Coz and myself decided that we need a major scandal to occur these final days prior to the election. Personally, nothing says "scandal" like GHB and Dick Cheney. While it's common knowledge that Dick is a world-class asshole of gargantuan proportions, what few know is that he is also a maniacal pedophile who loves to "slip mickeys" into "young girls' drinks" and then "have raw, unprotected buttsex with their comatose bodies" and then "shit on their faces." This is most certainly celebrated in my campaign, but the Republican Party? Eh, not so much. Unless you throw some fucking blow into the mix. Bovs. Of course, we here at the Obvs in '04™ Campaign don't mind that eiths. Boo-jah!

So Cosby decided to ambush Cheney on Saturday night. Peabs, with a belly full of special K and heart of fucking gold, was more than willing to act as his accomplice. Obvs.

Apparently, Dick likes to take his wife and daughter out for the famously ooh-jah ribs and tuna-fish casserole combo at the local Shoney's, then "excuse himself to the bathroom" in order to lube up with some tartar sauce, wildly masturbate to the Halliburton quarterly newsletter and phone Colin Powell, so that fucking perverted fuck can set up the tween fuckfest for the evening. Schmobvs. Using phone taps and gravity bongs, Coz and yours effing truly were able to redirect Dick's call to Dan Jansen, world famous speed skater and expert Colin Powell impersonator (not to mention quite the fucking meth-head, snatch). Jansen somehow convinced Cheney that the nightly gangbang was to occur at the home of Oscar-winning deceased actor Don Ameche Duhvs, no one fucking parties harder than Don. He's gets more fucking vag than your gay sister on a world-tour of my host mother's clit-ring collection. Oh, you didn't know Peabs is a foreign exchange student? Well, I am. From the country of Turkey. Gobble, gobble!

Anyway, the press was waiting for Cheney at Ameche's house. Howevs, I do not think the media was ready for what they were about to see...

Let's just say that Dick Cheney showed up with testicles for eyeballs,wearing assless chaps and accompanied by Babe the Blue Ox, who was strung out on H and speaking complete jibberish. My guess is because she's a fucking blue ox. On heroin. Shmears.

Either way, none of this post is true and it's pretty motherfucking clear that I mixed a little more LSD with my morning gram of blow than Peabs had intended. Who the eff am I kidding? Obvs I dissolved an entire sheet knowing full well that I was going to ramble on, Zep II-stizz. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"My eleven year old daughter mopes around the house all day waiting for her breasts to grow. Bozzle!"

What in the fuck would you do without Peabs? I am your everything. Your body, your soul. The cream of the crop. The apple of your eye. The moneyshot on your fucking face. The cock in your vaggie vag. Obvs.

Suck it.

listen
beloved i dreamed
i thought you would have deceived
me and became a star in the kingdom
of heaven
through day and space i saw you close
your eyes and i came riding
upon a thousand crimson years arched with agony
i reined them in tottering before
obvs in
04™.

Mmmmmm, Baby. Your Ass Tastes Like Biscuits & Gravy.

2004-10-21T13:36:00.000-04:00

To quote the great German chancellor Otto Von Bismarck: "Expect me to punch you in the fucking face after you give me a sloppy beej, you effing Prussian handjob." That pretty much summed up last evening's Obvs in '04 Campaign fundraiser, in which most of my NYC supporters threatened to commit ritual suicide after the Yankees loss to the Boston Red Sox. So in order to liven their spirits, Peabs fed them all cocaine and oxycontin salad, dressed up like Babe Ruth and "called my shot" on their respective tees. Bovs. I have more jazz than Charlie Parker giving Miles Davis a fucking facial at Estee Lauder. She mars all over your Lars Ulrich. Darkness! Imprisoning me!

For those of you who didn't know already, this Halloween Peabs plans to throw an epic fundraiser called "Trick or Trick: An Obvs in '04 Joint." Your friend and mine, Dr. Bill Cosby, came up with a tigs idea for a costume last evening: Peter Cottontail. I figure all Peabs would have to do is get one of my gonorrhea-ridden cokehores to Hum-V the D™, gargle my jazz like Listerine®, and spit it out on my sweet, pretty A. That way, Peabs will have a nice little tail. All I'll need to do is snort massive amounts of crank and hippidy-hop around, shitting pellets on your fucking face and removing your ovaries with a carrot stick. Some say greatest Halloween costume since when Peabs went as General Augusto Pinochet. Let's just say Peabs was in full character that particular evening, calling everyone "Marxist whores", buttfucking them and dropping Sony™ Playstations on the back of their heads. You try telling me that ain't hotter than flossing your teeth with Coz's pubic hair. Obvs.

Anyway, here's another excerpt from my debate with Ralph Nader. Next week the site will return to it's normal format, so apologies for being busy. I'm fucking running for fucking President, people. Shmears. Be that as it may, Peabs still loves you in ways that only prison inmates understand– i.e. I love it when you bend over in the shower and make me call you Karen Carpenter. Obvs. I'm so fucking Catholic.

Blue: "Mr Nader, in my film "Violation of Ashley Blue," you played an anesthesiologist who had a fetish for ass-licking his patients while under. Do you feel that this is a metaphor for how you, if elected, would handle the Presidency?"

Nader: "Firstly, Ashley, I did not co-star in that particular motion picture; I was in "Train My White Ass 4," playing Professor Butt McButt. Be that as it may, I feel that your metaphor is fascist. If I were President, I wouldn't focus on ass-licking; I would focus on the environment."

Peabs: "I have no problem admitting that Peabs would focus on ass-licking. Rimjobs are a cherished tradition in this great country of ours. And if we're to take them for Granda, who knows what will occur next?! Next thing you know, you'll be tossing your aunt's salad and it won't taste of vomit and Benson & Hedges 120's. And what does that say about us as patriots? Or even more so, what does that say about us as human beings? Peabs'll tell you. But you'd have to let me fist your vaggie-vag before I give up any of those secrets. That's why a vote for Peabs isn't just a vote for America, it's a vote for Ass. I quote the great Indira Gandhi, whom I teabagged just five minutes before this debate: 'You must be still in the midst of activity, and be vibrantly alive in repose, and sodomize me with a Lortab enema and a smile. Suck it. Gobble, gobble!'"

Shmears.

and if what calls itself a world should have
the luck to hear such singing(or
obvs in
'04™.

Swimming Down The Dirty River.

2004-10-20T11:28:00.000-04:00

Okay, yes. What you've heard is very much true: Peabs once had an unhealthy obsession with Shelley Duvall. So much that I actually went so far as to cocoon a pre-teen Duvall, Wilford Brimley-stizz. You have no idea what that means. Obvs.

Anyway, madness is ensuing upon the Obvs in '04™ Campaign. We've been receiving much backing from many a left-wing militant organization and illegal pharmaceutical special interest group, let alone gay-porn mogul Rod Cock (a longtime Peabs supporter, duh). Oh, you claim you don't know Rod's work? Ever see "Home Fries"? If you try telling Peabs that movie isn't a homoerotic buttfuck-fest of flaming trout proportions, I'll try telling you that Dr. Bill Cosby's god-given name was Hot Carl Camille Jacob Pissarro. Peabs would know. Shmears all over your fucking Crisco®, Lenny Briscoe. Boo-jah!

In case you haven't noticed yet, I'm on a shitload of acid today. Look, there's Grimace! Bovs.

Without further or due, here is another excerpt from my epic debate with Ralph Nader. In the meantime, Peabs is going to go couch bombing with the image of Pol Pot fisting Bill Blass firmly implanted in my brain. To quote matinee idol John Garfield: "Realistic solid Jel-Lee cock with balls is 7.5 inches in length, and slim for easy entry." Schmobvs.

Blue: "Mr Nader, would you like to respond in your defense of recent allegations made by Representative Peabs that you are indeed Count Chocula?"

Nader: "The idea of me being Count Chocula is fascist. Clearly, Representative Peabs is delusional and under the influence of some sort, or many, narcotics. I mean, look at him right now! Sure, he's easy on the eyes in his custom-made Paul Smith suit; but he's got his penis hanging out of his pants, and I am pretty darn sure he is foaming at the mouth!"

Blue: "Representative Peabs, would you care to respond? By the way, your cock looks delicious, and I'd love to make it the focus of my next hoagie. Mmmmmmmm, cock hoagies."

Peabs: Firstly, Peabs would like to state for the record that yes, I am on many narcotics, and never have I denied such. Furthermore, I know for a fact that Ralph Nader is Count Chocula because Indira Gandhi told me so. She mars. I also have a sneaking suspicion that he is also Atticus Finch. On a related note, I Peabs, am certainly a turkey. And you can gobble gobble that to the bank, Mr. Creamjeans. I'll ass-fuck you for Lent. Bovs."

all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or
obvs in
'04™.

Milking The Head Of Prostate.

2004-10-18T22:31:00.000-04:00

Hey lovers, how was your fucking weekend? Better than Peabs'? Doubtful. Robvs. I stuck my D™ in more orifices than Liberace at an effing glory hole convention. Ooh-jah!

Much has occurred in the Obvs in '04™ Campaign these past few days: Dr. Bill Cosby was assaulted and gang-raped by a group of gay turkeys who thought that he was a giant vat of mashed potatoes; and yours effing truly participated in a debate with fellow Presidential candidate Ralph Nader. Not to mention I decided to play a prank on Powers Boothe in which I bought a copy of "Red Dawn", choked myself with a garden hose, and beat off into a mason-jar to the scene where Lea Thompson gives C. Thomas Howell a rim-job. Let it be known that Mr. Boothe does not take kindly to one actually buying copies of his movies. Apparently he's also not a fan of Peabs fucking his wife with a spork, tarring and feathering her and calling her Colonel Sanders. Finger lickin' bovs! She mars. Peabs, so fucking opaque.

Anyway, back to the aforementioned debate. Personally, Peabs felt it went very well, but I'll let you be the judge of that. Since we are now reaching the last two weeks before the election, the next few days will be a pretty busy time here at the Obvs in '04™ Campaign headquarters. With that, during the ensuing days I shall treat you with some excerpts from last Thursday's debate with Ralph Nader. Bovs all over your effing butt plugs, you fucking herpes-infested cockrings.

Ashley Blue (adult film actress, debate mediator, cocksucking cokewhore):"Mr. Nader, how do you feel about the country's current laws regarding the legalization of territorial gerbiling?"

Ralph Nader (Green Party Presidential candidate): "People of America, territorial gerbiling is fascist. If I am elected President, any... what the hell kind of question is this? I don't believe this issue was brought up in President Bush or Senator Kerry's debates.

Representative Peabs (D-Mich.):"Umm, I'd like to respond to Mr. Nader's comments. In 1997, Peabs sold Ralph a sheet of blotter acid and a tricycle. And with that tricycle, he drove that blotter acid to a pet store. And at that pet store, he bought himself a gerbil. And where is that gerbil now? People of America, when Peabs is elected, those gerbils will be fighting for their right to burrow in the asses of both men and women, and should be allowed to do so. They were there first. They are the American Indians of the 21st century and beyond. I think what Mr. Nader fails to realize here is that I'm really, really fucking pretty, and Peabs just bukkaked his daughter with a shower of jazz only comparable to the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Bovs."

More debate highlights as the week progresses. Peabs apologizes for being busy, but it takes a lot of hard work and dedication to run a fake campaign for President and talk about myself so much; let alone smoke so much fucking crack that I shake like Michael J. Fox. Schmobvs. I would think you'd understand, but none of you are as fucking drop-dead gorgeous as yours effing truly, so just kindly suck it. Shmears. I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Nubilously! Flazzum!"

Gobble, gobble.

i charge laughing.
Into the hair-thin tints
of yellow dawn,
into the women-colour
obvs in
'04™

Jacuzzi-Bagging Narcoleptics

2004-10-14T14:32:00.000-04:00

Okay, Peabs has a confession. Myself and Dr. Bill Cosby are responsible for Bill O'Reilly's recent sexual antics. And Peabs couldn't be any fucking prouder. Well, actually I could be; "Caribbean shower fantasies?" Shmears, Bill. You could've come up with something a little more tigs shats boombies. You know, like "cum-guzzling she-male golden-shower-loving cokewhore fantasies." She mars all over your Amit Kumars. Dood!

Needless to say, I shouldn't be too shocked at O'Reilly's debaucherous gestures. Sure, he came onto me multiple times during our past interviews, spitting out terms of endearment like a Peter North moneyshot in your effing eye, you fucking twat. Be that as it may, it was behind the scenes where my influence really came into play. Coz's too. Schmobvs.

After our second interview, it was pretty clear that Bill and yours effing truly were on the same page about a lot of things. We certainly disagreed on most political views, but when it came to snorting Acyclovir and eating the ooh-jah out of a narcoleptic's boo-jah, we had comparable, healthy appetites. Mmmmmmmm, boo-jah. Some say tastier than turkey. Gobble!

Coz and myself decided to take Bill O'Reilly out on the town and do it up, Obvs in '04™ Campaign-stizz. I don't really need to get into too many details, but let's just say that Bill couldn't exactly hang with Peabs. I mean, don't get me wrong, that jack-off loves assfucking just as much as the next guy. But he lacks imagination. Shmears. For example, Cosby was cutting up some gram-long speedball rails and the motherfucking douchebag had the audacity to say:

"But isn't it bad to mix cocaine with heroin?"

To which Peabs politefully responded:

"Are you effing SIDS? She fucking mars, Bill! You effing dildo! That's like saying freebasing ketamine and chasing it with bumps of Wellbutrin is like eating out Mindy Kohn's ass! You have a lot to learn, my friend. A lot to learn. Bovs all over your effing cameltoe, you fucking pussy."

So Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly decided to teach our naive friend what a "jacuzzi-bag" was. Granda, it worked, and Bill came around. He still lacks creativity, in my humble opinion. But then again, Peabs is the most creative fuck on the planet. The prettiest, too. I'll fuck your mother with a Shop-Vac® and make her toast me some Eggos®. But don't expect me to eat that shit, you fucking cunt. Robvs.

Tonight, Peabs prepares for my much-anticipated debate with Ralph Nader. I assure you, my loyal followers, that I shan't disappoint. Shmears. How could I? Peabs a fucking specimen, a marvel. A fucking miracle of modern science. And I should know: I created "modern science." With my bare cock. Bovs. Isn't that right, Bill Cosby?

"Yooooooooouuuu best nots forgets the Jell-OOOOOOOOOO®! Flozzle!"

Well said.

I'll have transcripts from tonight's debate posted here next week. Until then, kindly jazz all over your fucking chlamydia-ridden perenium, you effing monkey paws.

or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who'd given my Unde Sol a Victor
obvs in
04™.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow, I Shoved My Cock Down Your Thrizz.

2004-10-13T13:53:00.000-04:00

Peabs just ingested half a jar of E and inhaled a dozen gravity bong hits of Laughing Buddha, and I'm feeling a bit- how should I put this?- honest. Which is rare, because everything that comes out of my pretty fucking mizz is a bold-faced lie. Shmears.

So today, on the eve of my Thursday debate with Ralph Nader, Peabs would like to share with you a little secret: I wrote the original script for the timeless classic "The Wizard of Oz." Schmobvs.

Originally titled "The Wizard of Obvs," my version of the film was much darker than the movie that would eventually be released. Not filthy fucking dirty in that "the Lion fistfucks the Scarecrow as he teabags Dorothy, who moans 'There's no cock like Holmes, there's no cock like Holmes'" sort of way. Err, wait... no, exactly in that way. Obvs.

In the Peabs version, Dorothy is running a brothel in Topeka, but isn't exactly making ends meet with her prudish, pre-op trannie call girls. So she decides to dabble in a little drug dealing- mushrooms, to be exact. The Lion, Tin-Man and Scarecrow are actually just figments of Dorothy's imagination; so much that she ends up hiring three lactose-intolerant Amish albinos to dress up as her respective hallucinations and act out Vaudeville scenes, with dildos strapped to their ooh-jahs. Why no one greenlighted this idea is beyond Peabs. Bovs on your effing Butterballs®, you fucking turkeys! Gobble, gobble.

Anyway, the real story was the legal battle Peabs had with MGM over the rights of the characters in the film. Representing myself (obvs, I'm quite possibly the greatest litigator in history), I was able to reach a settlement out of court: in exchange for the characters from the original script, Dr. Bill Cosby would play the Tin-Man, and MGM would provide yours effing truly with a lifetime supply of vicodin. Personally, I think I made out on the deal. And quite frankly, I thought you were amazing as the Tin-Man, Coz.

"Yooooou've gots to know I flazzumed Judy Garland's bozzle bop!"

Tonight, the two real candidates for President square off in their third debate. For those of you who give a shit, watch. Howevs, the real debate occurs tomorrow, when Peabs and Nader go toe-to-toe in a completely fictional debate. Schmobvs. I best go prepare. And by prepare, Peabs means snort some fucking speedballs and mainline some Diethylproprion; gotta look nice and emaciated for the American people. Obvs.

Until then, when you're masturbating with a Vaseline-covered dildo and about to secrete all over your son's face, just know that Peabs loves you. Why? Because I'm fucking wonderful. Suck my fucking cock, you effing handjobs.

am was. are leaves few this. is these a or
scratchily over which of earth dragged once
-ful leaf. & were who skies clutch an of poor
obvs in
'04™.

I'll Jerk Off On Your Face And Call You Dad.

2004-10-12T14:05:00.000-04:00

Fuck, Peabs is fascinating.

In preparation for Thursday's debate, yours motherfucking truly and Dr. Bill motherfucking Cosby took the red-eye in from Zaire and went our respective ways, trying to create some more buzz for the Obvs in '04™ Campaign. Coz hit the church circuit, feeding the audience crank-laced puddin' pops and convincing them that the Bible was actually written during a coke-induced episode of Picture Pages. Schmobvs. Your beautiful and fearless leader, on the other hand, visited the Pacific Northwest with an ex-fling in mind. And by ex-fling, Peabs really means she used to cover me in Smuckers® jam and suck my D™ with a mouth full of Jif®. Moms like her choose Peabs. Obvs.

Anyway, my ex-fuck is actually reputable pedophile Mary Kay LeTourneau, whom Peabs used to partake in many a golden shower with when I was in preschool. She had phoned me while I was mid-rail, begging for some of that "hot lunch" I used to give her way back when. I figured she might be good for research (sloppy head) on the issue of national education; an issue certain to come up in the debate. Normally I have no problem assfucking married women - BOVS - howevs, LeTourneau is one fucked-up mama. And I've effed plenty of fucked-up mamas, but the shit she used to make me do to her was fucking vile, even by Peabs' admittedly low standards. The peanut butter and jelly thing was tame compared to what occurred after I won the National Spelling Bee at the tender age of 3 and a half.

For those of you who didn't already know this, Peabs was a boy genius. I know this doesn't come as a shock to you, considering how effing brills I am now. Be that as it may, as a young lad my parents were big fans of exploiting their first born and his genius, so they entered me into the National Spelling Bee, even though I didn't even come close to matching the age requirement. How Peabs was allowed in the contest is a whole other story (it involves blowing 10 inch rails off of my D™, nothing new). Anyway, I destroyed the competition. Duh. I got so bored with languages, I made up my own, so how could Peabs not spell every word imaginable? Shmears.

Coincidentally, LeTourneau had been a private tutor of mine since I was two, and we began a passionate affair soon afterwards. She always claimed she had something really nasty up her sleeve for 'lil Peabs, once she felt I deserved it. Apparently, spelling pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism correctly made her really fucking horny, because once I returned to Seattle, she was like I had never seen her before. Gobble fucking gobble.

Clad in Saran Wrap®, she also wore a giant black strap-on dildo. Unbeknownst to Peabs, she was much more flexible than I had ever remembered; Mary Kay was giving head to very own dildo. The sight was a tad bizarre, but not as strange as when she lead me into a room filled with powdered sugar, asked me to shit all over her, and then kick her around so that the sugar would stick to her body. I was then asked to shoot a hot load down her throat, which she playfully gargled. I asked her what the fuck she thought she was doing, and she responded by saying she "wanted to be Krispy Kreme® for Halloween." To which Peabs responded with more vomit than my first day at a heroin detox clinic.

I haven't eaten since.

Despite the fact Peabs has suffered from every eating disorder known to man because of Mary Kay LeTourneau, I decided to still pay her a visit. She claimed she had changed. Peabs should've known better. She mars.

Peabs should've bolted the second I walked in the door, with Mary Kay begging for me to blow a hot one on her face and call her "Papi." But, obvs, I didn't. Needless to say, I'll have a lot to express regarding our nation's educational system this coming Thursday. Bovs all over your fucking tees, you trannie-fucking cockface.

into crossing sidewalks the
unwary june-bug and the frivolous
angleworm
Thou dost hang canary birds in parlour
obvs in
'04™.

Blumpkining The Elderly.

2004-10-11T11:55:00.000-04:00

Peabs was way too effed to update last Friday. Then I realized: Peabs doesn't fucking post on Fridays! Fridays are meant for doing opium bongtokes, ripping lines of Kool Aid® and buttfucking Genghis Khan. So anywizz, now I'm back and fresher than a vagina full of Massengill®. Mmmmmm, Massengill®. Schmobvs.

As mentioned last week, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly challenged fellow Presidential candidate Ralph Nader to a debate, which has been set for this Thursday. And with that, we were able to get a hold of the questions (thank you fistfucking and cocaine!) and doctor them to give the Obvs in '04™ Campaign a distinct advantage. And because Peabs loves each and every one of you (lest we forget I want to empty my spizz onto your fucking face, you silly little hookers), here is one of the aforementioned questions and how Peabs plans to answer:

Representative Peabs, in a recent interview you stated that in order to better health care in the United States, you must "club senior citizens over the head with a blunt object." How is that possibly going to make anything better at all? Oh, and by the way, you look amazing in Prada. And you have a really big cock. Discuss.

"Firstly, Peabs would like to thank everyone here, wherever the fuck we are, for putting on this fucking debate. I'd also like to thank my supporters for that kinky call girl you threw in for last night. Damn! I haven't been sucked off like that since Kathy Najimy deep-throated my D™ on the set of "Sister Act 2." She mars! Moving on, I'd like to point out that blumpkining the elderly as purpose for health care reform was not solely my idea. You see, one evening Dr. Bill Cosby and my pretty self were hosting an anal gangbang; all proceeds were going to the Obvs in '04™ Campaign, snatch. The extremely talented Jon Secada was in attendance, fresh off of a performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, which I hear he is just simply amazing in. Incidentally, Jon has a thing for older women, so Coz introduced him to Sophia Loren's she-male twin, Brophia. Throw a little LSD and Diflucan into the mix, and suddenly Secada's beating Brophia over the head with a crowbar and jazzing all over her closed-head injury. Robvs.

This gave Bill Cosby, a doctor mind you, an effing tigs idea: quarantine senior citizens to bathhouses, lube the geezers up, and give them a bunch of blunt objects. Sooner or later, they'll just off each other, and BAM! Health care reformed. Now sure, Peabs was on so much heroin that I thought I was getting my ass rimmed by Cosby's 1966 Emmy for "I Spy", but that's neither here nor there. I'm fucking wonderful; that's what's important here. Peabs also just blew more coke than Ken Caminiti on Opening Day in '97, so you'll just have to humor me. Bovs on your fucking clit-ring, you fucking buttplug."

And that's just one brilliant answer. Just wait until we get to the Cosby-penned questions. They'll make you want to masturbate into a Kangol® hat, wrap in tin-foil, and give it to Samuel L. Jackson for Thanksgiving. Gobble, gobble! Peabs is a turkey!

Tonight, Coz and yours effing truly are taking a bit of a break and flying to Zaire and reenacting the "Rumble in the Jungle." Howevs, our interpretation will be slightly different than the original. Coz will play George Foreman; but his conceptualization will include blowing mali during round breaks, and having dildos for arms. I shall take on the role of the great Muhammad Ali; but present-day Ali. I'll do a bump every thirty seconds on my flight to Africa, so that by the time we land, I'll be shaking like Peabs has Parkinson's. Isn't that right Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Yoooooouuuuu've gots to know that Michael J. Fox has the flazzum flozzle!"

it will become you;and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more
obvs in
'04™.

Frankly, Peabs Enjoys Rim-Jobs Above Anything Else.

2004-10-07T09:20:00.000-04:00

Duh.

Long-time Obvs in '04™ Campaign supporter and reputable ass-eater Alex Sanders had yet another of his infamous fundraisers for Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly last evening. In fact, I'm pretty convinced that Alex will be making these parties a daily ritual from now until the elections, so if you're into salad-tossing and blowing teener-long rails of speed off of a trannie's cockring, then Peabs might suggest hightailing it to Van Nuys. Schmobvs. It's hotter than my effing load down your thrizz, you fucking slutbag.

Anyway, the party was a complete success in many a facet. Cosby discovered that when you liquefy ecstasy and then do shots of it, the result is a feeling only comparable to getting blown by a pre-teething newborn. Bovs. Certainly, Peabs did his fair share of microdots and participated in multiple gangbangs, but that is no different than any other night. What really made the evening was the fact that I made close friends with adult film star Ashley Blue; and by "close friends" I really mean Peabs fed her with so much cocaine that I convinced her that "all the tea in China" was really in my testicles. Teabagging. Some say more robvs than John Wilkes Booth. Sic semper tyrannis!

Coincidentally, the lovely Ashley had been approached by Ralph Nader, who asked the vixen if she would act as mediator to our upcoming debate. Luckily, she decided to take on the task, and I knew I could make this work in my favor. Don't get me wrong; I still feel I have a legitimate shot at the Presidency, but I play fucking dirty. Obvs. I've been face down in dirty snizz since Ike was in office. If there was any way in which Peabs could get an upper hand on the debate, I was going to pull out... all the stops. No, wait. I was going to pull out and blow jazz on her mizz. Duhvs. My cum is like porcelain. Gobble!

Since Ashley was coked out of her effing mind (thanks to your fearless, gorgeous leader), Peabs was able to coerce the silly lass into letting Coz "double-check" her questions for Nader and myself. Schmobviously, Dr. Bill Cosby "edited" these questions so that truly meaningful topics were touched upon: for instance, the effects of freebasing crystal meth as opposed to snorting; giving handjobs for crack and it's impact on the economy; and the psychological and Oedipal significance of auto erotic asphyxiation by way of used tampon.

Peabs is certain that fucking crackhead wack-job Cosby threw in a "flizzum" here and a "bozzle bop puddin pop" there, so tonight I'll have to ingest an assload of mushrooms and turpentine and make the questions a little more comprehensible. Because Peabs speaks perfect English and never makes up any words (obvs). I also never talk about myself (Peabs, Peabs, Peabs) and the amount of drugs I consume (kilos) or vaginas I penetrate (tens of thousands, most likely yours). Nope. Not me. Never. Shmears.

Tomorrow, Peabs shall treat you with an excerpt of some of the edited debate questions and how I plan to answer them. Until then, bovs on my mastectomized tees, you fucking IUDs! Anything to add, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"I like to barbequuuuuuuueee the bizzle bazzle!"

lily has a rose
no rose i've
and losing's less than winning(but
love is more
obvs in
'04™.

Sex Gifts For Australian Businessmen.

2004-10-06T08:38:00.000-04:00

Last night, Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly decided to sauté our pretty bodies in tryptophan-laced Benadryl, huff some ether and refer to each other as Jennie-O. It was a wonderful distraction from our difficult everyday lives of politics-by-way-of-coke-snorting-and-anal-gangbangs. Schmobvs. Peabs highly suggests that the next time you get your filthy fucking paws on some tigs (CH3CH2)2O, you should dress up as Richard Branson, hire a mongoloid with three vaginas and build a treehouse out of popsicle sticks. It's both invigorating and asinine, but then again, so is my existence. She mars on your fucking handle-bar moustache, Rollie Fingers! Gobble!

In midst of last evening's shenanigans, Coz thought it would be a fabulous idea to challenge fellow Presidential candidate Ralph Nader to a debate. While Peabs may have skipped out on last week's debates, I felt it was certainly more important to go skiing with the fucking douchenozzle star of "Airwolf" than clown the two front-runners. I mean, shmears. Dubya is a sorry excuse for a cokehead, and quite frankly, he's not very effing bright. And Kerry? Well, while he and I have agreed on many things, the fact that Peabs sodomized his wife with a billygoat and fucked her unconscious, trembling body in a vat of ketchup hasn't exactly made us compadres. Duhvs. So hogsviously Peabs would've embarrassed the two handjobs, and it was only fair of me not to participate. Nader, on the other hand, is a different story. We have a pretty effing sordid past.

Cosby and Nader used to be prominent figures in the east coast underground religious swingers movement from 1971 to 1998. In fact, they were actually close friends and collaborated on many "projects", including the infamous "Cocaine and Able" jawn of 1997. It was during this particular production that Coz and Nader had their falling out, and Peabs played a significant part in the process. You see, Coz felt it was necessary to bring in a "freelance gigolo" to play the part of Cocaine, and who better to do so than yours effing truly? Apparently, Nader did not take too kindly to this; it was pretty fucking bovs that he was intimidated by my gargantuan D™, let alone my passion for acting. Lest we forget the fact that I fingerfucked his grandmother while jerking off into her Frosted Flakes, moaning:

"You like the way Tony jazzes in your fucking cereal, Mildred? Huh? Call me tiger, you fucking slut. Grrrrrrrrrr."

Needless to say, since then, there has been an unbridled rivalry between Ralph and myself, and I think that a debate between the two of us would do wonders for our approval ratings. Bovs.

Although, my ratings can't possibly get much higher. Why? Because you simply fucking love Peabs. Let's face it, America. I would be the son of God if I weren't God already. My urine would cure cancer if it weren't tainted with mali. My vomit was once sculpted to form an even more meticulous and detailed version of Michelangelo's David, and sold as a dildo to a banker from Sydney. Obvs.

Peabs is a fucking phenomenon. A cultural icon. Your 44th President. Shmears. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Flazzum!"

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more
obvs in
'04™.

The Unbearable Likeness of Peabs.

2004-10-05T08:26:00.000-04:00

Miss me? Shmears. You needn't answer such an asinine question. Your lives are clearly boring without me. Peabs is just that fucking fascinating.

Peabs knows what you're thinking:

"But Peabs, you said you were only going to be gone for a 'week or so,' and here you are a month later, even prettier and seemingly more methed out than when you left us."

Really, honestly, I'm fucking touched. And I don't mean touched in that "Daddy touched me there and proceeded to give me a wicked hummer at age 7" sort of way. Though, oddly, they are similar. Bovs.

So I lied. So Peabs was gone for a month or so. Big effing dizz. Politicians lie; duhvs, I am most certainly a lying politician. With a remarkable ass and testicles like a fucking donkey on Levitra®. Gobble!

It appears as though much has happened in my absence (Janet Leigh died? Slut.), and I somewhat apologize for my hiatus. I assure you, my lovely followers, an absence of this magnitude shan't occur again. Dr. Bill Cosby once said "if you can't razzle them with your dazzle, flizzum them with your flazzum."

And that is what Peabs is here to do: Flizzum you with my flazzum. That, and talk about myself. Duh.

You may be wondering where the fuck yours effing truly and Coz have been. And rightfully so. Well, it's no secret that the Obvs in '04™ Campaign had been losing ground, so it was clear that Peabs had to do one of two things: freebase crank and ski the Swiss Alps with Cosby and Jan Michael Vincent, or raise more money for my presidential campaign and prepare for the debates. It's pretty obvs, considering my absence from said debates, Peabs chose the former. So what was said to be "a week or so" turned into approximately a month. Hey, you try smoking a cockload of angel dust with motherfucking Stringfellow Hawk and tell me you don't lose track of time, you fucking handjobs. Shmears on your effing lab-maj.

For those of you who are unaware, Peabs met Vincent in Somalia in the early '70's. You see, I didn't always live this glamorous, charmed lifestyle. Sure, I'm fucking loaded and my mother was a crackwhore, so Peabs was high and rich from the time of my birth. Howevs, I blew most of my trust-fund up my nose before the age of... well... that's not important. Needless to say, when I was offered the job as court jester to an Isaaq clan-family in northern Somalia, I jumped at it. Sure, they offered me "all the horse in the Eastern hemisphere", but I still wonder to this day if it was worth it. As fucked up as I am in the head, I didn't think I would have to dress up like an effing dildo, cover myself in mint jelly and insert my quasi "cock-body" into Shaykh Daarood Jabarti's vault (which he had conveniently fashioned into a giant vaggie-vag, clit-ring and all). I kid you not: it drove me to heroin. Schmobvs.

Jan Michael Vincent happened to be the clan-family's skag dealer, and we became fast friends. We ass-fucked local prostitutes and compared Ernest Borgnine stories; did you know that an 11-year-old Jan acted as fluffer to Ernie on the set of Marty? Obvs you didn't. I just made that up. Suck my fucking cock.

Frankly, I have no idea where Peabs is going with this, so I'll just say it's good to be back. With the election just around the corner, Peabs is going to need all of the support I can get. And by support, I mean it would be fucking tigs shats to the boombies if you fed me some mescaline, tossed my fucking salad, and beat me off into your childhood jizz bib of reminiscence, you fucking SIDS-ridden whore. Don't forget to milk the prostate, cowgirl. Oohjah!

Back on the campaign trail tomorrow, lovers. Until then, bovs on Cosby's effing tees.

"Yooooooooou've gots to bovs on my bazzle! Fazzle shazzle mozzle-tov!"

Obvs.

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or
obvs in
'04™.

Hold on Kiddies… Peabs will be back soon

2004-09-21T13:51:00.000-04:00

Until then, I’m going to give you some recommendations, McSweeney’s stizz. (And I am not including zombies or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in this list because that is bovs.)

The Surreal Life – Season 3
They say romance is dead… Flavor Flav and Brigitte Nelson prove them all wrong.

Garbanzo Beans
Nice little source of protein.

Caller ID
Making you feel like God by giving you the power to accept a call or let it go to voicemail.

Wetting the clothes you are wearing with water from the kitchen sink to remove wrinkles before going to work
Surprisingly effective.

Sick Days
Actually these suck because you can never really enjoy them because you are convinced all your co-workers think you are faking and you most likely are. But still you get to sleep in, so this is still recommended.

Free Nights and Weekends
Makes us use that cell phone way more than we normally would.

Garden State
So good, we even forgive them for saying in it that a Shins song from 2001 will change your life.

Instant Messenger
Because typing LOL instead of fake laughing while having real conversations takes less effort.

Moving Units
New Album Dangerous Dreams comes out October 12. It’s good.

Flip-Flops
Now acceptable at the office.

Target
This really is one stop shopping. Someone should say that in a commercial or something.

Pony Tails
Still cute and covers up that fact that you didn’t wash your hair that day.

Now let’s hope Peabs case of the crabs clears up soon.

Peabs: Behind the Blog

2004-09-15T13:50:00.000-04:00

Just got a phone call from Peabs--who is off in Zanzibar getting hand jobs from tribal trannies with the Coz, members of Styx and his favorite Golden Girl (Betty White, obvs)--and he asked me to let you all know he will be back soon (or so he sayeth).

I figured I would take this opportunity to let you all know more about Peabs: The Man, the Myth, the Legend. I’m not as verbose as he is, so bullet points will have to do.

• Little known fact about Peabs – the man showers 20-25 times a day. How do you think he survives living such a dirty lifestyle?
• Ralph Nader asked Peabs to run for President. And it was Peabs would told Nader not to eat hot dogs anymore because they are just plain nasty. They met while rooming together in the dorms at Princeton, in case you didn’t know.
• His better half really is better.
• He is allergic to synthetic fibers. That’s why he only wears Prada.
• Peabs made Betty Ford hit the bottle again, though he swears to this day she did it all on her own accord.
• He turned down replacing Kilborn on the Late Late Show because he’s just too pretty for TV. That’s why he sticks to the internet.

How do you like them apples?

Gobble Gobble.

On Vacation.

2004-08-26T15:06:00.000-04:00

Peabs and Dr. Bill Cosby will be busy assfucking disease-infested hookers and blowing countless rails of coke for the next week or so. We both understand that your lives will be utterly boring without us. My suggestion? Phone a call girl, buy a half-kilo and rent out a room at the Red Roof. You'll thank Peabs for it. Shmears.

Stay beautiful. And by beautiful, I mean try as hard as possible to emulate all that which is my gorgeous ass. Bovs on your fucking tees.

Obvs in '04™.

Peabs Doesn't Break Hearts, Just Hymens.

2004-08-24T17:22:00.000-04:00

During the Iran Contra Affair, Peabs was subpoenaed in front of a grand jury to testify against Oliver North. Few people know of my involvement in this matter, and I figured that before my fellow Presidential candidates release this information to the public, Peabs should come clean. Robvs.

You see, at the time I was both a well-known supermodel and high-profile litigator. I was just starting to get into politics when I met North at a coke and ass-licking party held at Alex Sanders' Van Nuys mansion. He had inquired "where I got my shit", so we exchanged numbers. Little did Peabs know that Oliver was a fucking lightweight, and that whenever he gets effed on blizz, he likes to sell weapons to Middle Eastern countries. Fucking handjob. Shmears. The worst thing Peabs has ever done on cocaine was befriend Dr. Bill Cosby, and we all know where that's gotten me. Yup, that's right, baby. Smack dab in the mids of your effing uterus. Bovs.

Anyway, upon testifying that Peabs did indeed sell coke to Oliver North, the government advised that I should lay low until the whole affair blew over. Being an A-list celebrity and the most beautiful man in the world didn't exactly help matters that much. Neither did getting arrested for trying to smuggle ketamine from Honduras in Cosby's cock-folds. Schmobvs. Be that as it may, this was when Peabs decided to hightail it to California.

It was there in which I took a job as a PA on the set of "Growing Pains". Even in disguise it was clear that Peabs was fucking gorgeous, and heartthrob Kirk Cameron was growing quite jealous of me. I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself, so in order to avoid a confrontation with the sit-com star, I offered him some high-quality smack. Mike Seaver was hooked from the start. Gobble, gobble.

Since then, Cameron has apparently rehabilitated himself from his wicked horse addiction through Christianity. Pussy. This didn't stop Peabs and Dr. Bill Cosby from participating in an interview given by Kirk, which I have graciously transcribed below. She mars.

Kirk Cameron: Peabs, Dr. Cosby, thank you for joining me today. Just to let you know, our interview is sponsored by The Way of the Master.

Rep. Peabs (D-Mich.): Thank you for having us, Kirk. You look a lot less smacked out than the last time Peabs saw you.

Dr. Bill Cosby: Bozzle!

KC: You see, Peabs, I have gone The Way of the Master. I don't need drugs or a hit television program- in which I carried Alan Thicke's sorry canuck ass- to satisfy me.

Peabs: So what you're saying is you're a fucking douchebag now. Shmears.

KC: A douchebag? Perhaps. But not a "fucking" douchebag. The Way of the Master calls for a vow of celibacy. Anyway, let's get to the interview. Peabs, what is your view on Christianity, and how do you plan to spread your religious beliefs amongst the American public as President of the United States?

Peabs: Well, you see Kirk, I've never been a very religious person. Certainly Peabs has had many a torrid affair in church parking lots, but that doesn't make me a devout Christian. Shit, if that were the fucking case, with the amount of whores I've buttfucked on my elementary school's playground, I could be an effing Phys. Ed. teacher. Bovs.

KC: Don't you feel that the public deserves a little more than that? With The Way of the Master, and my status as an A-list celebrity Christian fundamentalist handjob, I have been able to spread the word of the lord to many, many people.

Peabs: Let's get something straight, Kirk. A-list celebrity? Fucking Boner's more of a celebrity than you are. And he probably gets laid. A lot. I mean, shmears, his name was fucking Boner! You're more on par with Stinky Sullivan. And stop with this Way of the Master shit! Maybe if you were David Fucking Carradine, it would sound more figs. But you just sound like a dildo who hasn't had his salad tossed since '87. Schmobvs. Don't you agree, Coz?

Cosby: Sounds like he needs his flozzum flazzumed!

KC: How dare you bring up Boner, Peabs! I, Kirk Cameron, was the star of that show! I was in "Like Father, Like Son," for Master's sake!

Peabs: She mars, Kirk. You and I both know that fucking Arthur couldn't save that movie. Plus, "Vice Versa" was the more superior 'father and son switching places' film. Duhvs.

KC: Peabs, do you feel that you're a 'good person'?

Peabs: If there's anything everyone knows about Peabs is that I believe that I'm a fucking amazing person. And you know why? Simply put, I'm incredible. Handsome, brilliant, big fucking D™- the total package. And I know where you're going with this. You're going to ask me if I think I'm a good person in God's eyes. Well, you know what Kirk? Peabs is God. Obvs.

Personally, I thought that went well. I don't think Cameron involved Dr. Bill Cosby enough, but let's be honest here, folks. All Coz would've said was "flazzum" and "razzle dazzle bozzle bop" and we all would've laughed hysterically. Bovs on your fucking boombalats, Billy Ripken!

More later from the Obvs in '04™ Campaign trail. Peabs knows you want to suck my cock. Shmears, step in line. I think there might be a spot right there in between Indira Gandhi and BJ Thomas. Float on, Damore! Cockring.

We've got each other, sharing the laughter of love.

arriving in an exhausted condition, i purchased two bags of lukewarm
peanuts
with the dime which her mama had generously provided(despite courte-
ous protestations)
and offering Miss Gay one(which she politely refused)set out gaily for
obvs in
'04™.

Banging Tracheas Is The New... No, It's Just Fucking Sick.

2004-08-23T13:30:00.000-04:00

Few know this, but Peabs used to study under Lee Strasberg. I was actually quite the matinee idol for a number of years, but politics and fashion took me away from the acting gig. And thank fucking Christ for that! Could you even possibly imagine the fashion industry without yours effing truly? Or the government, for that matter? Peabs thinks not. Obvs.

Anyway, there was a time when Strasberg referred to me as Moses, and not so much because he was a delusional alcoholic genius, but because Peabs actually did part the Red Sea. Twice. Bovs. In fact, I'm not really sure why everyone makes such a big effing deal about it. Dr. Bill Fucking Cosby parted the Red Sea and the Mediterranean Sea on the same day! On 8 hits of acid with a dildo up his A, no less! Shmears.

This past weekend, Peabs spent most of my free time smoking crack with my old friend from acting school, Sylvia Sydney. Many of you may remember Sylvia from the 1988 film "Beetle Juice," in which she played Juno. Syl and Coz had quite the affair when we were all at the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute in the early-'80's, but it was clear that she always had a thing for Peabs. Duhvs. I'm fucking beautiful. I could have down fucking syndrome and have been the product of anal leakage and still be the prettiest man evs. Gobble, gobble, you effing clit-rings.

Needless to say, it was clear when Ms. Sydney contacted me this weekend that she wanted to score some rock and have gratuitous relations. Obvs. Rarely do I ask anyone for sexual tips, but Peabs hadn't had sex with a dead woman in weeks. Errr, well, maybe a day or two, but whatevs. So I sought guidance from the always philosophical Coz about how to approach my encounter. Hogsviously, he responded in a grandiloquent manner:

"First you hit the bozzle, then you bazzle the mizzle mop!"

Basically, what Cosby told me to do was get her all sorts of effed on 'ludes, freebase some blow, and then go downtown on that old vaggie vag. Nothing sounded more appetizing.

That is, until after the aforementioned drug usage occurred and upon going down on the old broad, she was... well, let's just say she was bloodier than the Battle of Antietam. This made her angry:

"Peabs, eat that fucking shit, bitch! What, are you afraid? I thought Lee called you Moses 'cause you liked that shit!"

I replied, "Shmears! While Peabs may do a lot of sick-ass shit, the only periodical thing I dig is 'Hustler'. Bovs."

I thought I was off the hook. Au contrair.

"Then fuck my trache hole, you pussy!"

Fear not, my friends. Peabs, your future leader of the free world, did not do such a thing. In fact, I just smacked her over the head with a crackpipe and slightly bovsed on her tees. And by slightly, I mean there was no fucking way I could muster up a Peter North-esque load for this bitch. She made Betty White look like a 311 concert in Omaha. Shmears.

I'm the greatest thing known to mankind.

Brushing from whom the stiffened puke
i put him all into my arms
and staggered banged with terror
obvs in
'04™.

Like Sands Through The Hourglass, Peabs Ass-fucked Your Mother.

2004-08-19T09:52:00.000-04:00

Since Peabs has been sexually active since birth, I have found myself having to participate in anal gangbangs and fist-fuckfests in order to stay interested in the art of coitus. Don't get me wrong; I love to just straight up fuck like anyone else, but I prefer it effing raunchy. This is why Peabs loves his good friend Floppy Gomez. Schmobvs.

Floppy used to be Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly's peyote dealer in Arizona. In fact, he recently supplied the entire Obvs in '04™ Campaign staff with that shit during our visit for the February primaries. Anyway, Floppy's known for his outrageous parties. And when I say outrageous, I mean if you don't end up in bed injecting Meperidine and sodomizing Minnie Pearl with a lubricated pogo-stick, then you were obvs at the wrong party. Gobble, gobble.

You can imagine my excitement when Floppy Gomez called Peabs the other day and asked if he could throw one of his infamous parties in honor of the Obvs in '04™ Campaign. Coz and myself packed up the staff and hightailed it to Scottsdale, unsure of the theme for this particular fiesta. Upon arrival, we were certainly pleased: it was a "sandbag party." Obvs.

For those of you who don't know what a sandbag party is, it's much like a luau. It takes place on the beach, most partygoers are swimming in punch bowls of Glutethimide, etc. Howevs, the big difference is that when you take a horny slut out to the beach to have raw, gratuitous sex, this time you bring a condom.

Peabs knows what you're all thinking. Yes, I don't believe in safe sex. Worried about pregnancy? Pull out and jazz on her mizz. Worried about disease? Well, ummmm... pull out and jazz on her mizz. Robvs. This has been an issue I have based much of my campaign around. So why did Peabs say "bring a condom?" When you're effing the filthy slut on the beach and you're about to shoot a load, you throw some sand in her face, rip the rubber off and blow it inside her. Duh. It's a cherished act and should be practiced like Catholicism. Actually, they're not much different. Just ask the Pope. Shmears on your fucking cockring, you effing fuckbox.

Back to the party. Cosby had found solace in some hooker who went by Mrs. Butterworth (to boot, she reeked of maple syrup and was a talking glass bottle). I had found myself face-deep in a pile of flake with Tia Carrere and New Jersey governor James McGreevey. For the record, McGreevey's not really gay, just a cokehead who would suck cock for a mere key-blast. Oh, and Carrere says "Schwing!" when getting fingerfucked. Peabs found it a little strange when the governor asked if he could take Tia out to the beach, since I had been working her all evening. But hey, Peabs has always been one to help out a fellow cokehead politician. Obvs.

I decided to finish the rest of the blow and see if I could find Cosby. While Peabs was having an amazing time, all I really wanted to do was lock myself in a bathroom with Heathcliff Huxtable, and smoke some crystal meth until sunrise. Unfortunately, my running mizz was enamored with the aforementioned Butterworth, trying to convince her how good her syrup would taste on his puddin' pop. So Peabs had to barricade myself all alone. By the way, how did that little love affair go, Coz?

"Yoooooou've gots to know I flizzum'd all over her razzle dazzle! Picture pages!"

Bill Cosby. So fucking eloquent. If I didn't talk like such a fucking asshole all the time, Peabs would've adopted his language by now. Doesn't change the fact that I'm more fascinating than you are. Oh, wait, what's that? You hate Peabs? Then why can't you stop reading Peabs? I was buttfucking grandmothers when you were masturbating to Cookie the Clown fondling ping pong balls during the Grand Prize Game. Face it, you love Peabs. And quite frankly, I don't blame you. Bovs.

I'm gorgeous.

Hell(by most humble me which shall increase)
open thy fire!for
obvs in
'04™.

Assamachusetts!

2004-08-18T09:12:00.000-04:00

Robert McBride said it best:

"First you get the pussy, then you give 'em the money!"

For those of you who don't know the aforementioned McBride, he is a Chicago based whore provider who gave Peabs my first lesson in the art of hooker fucking. He is also a direct influence on my asinine vernacular, but I attribute that to the fact that he was an uneducated pimp. Shmears. Anywizz, there was a time in the '90's in which Dr. Bill Cosby and yours effing truly decided to visit good old Robert in what he liked to call Assamachusetts (he had names like this for most of the 50 states, snatch). And he didn't call it Assamachusetts because he was trying to be ironic. In fact, I'm pretty sure Robert McBride is convinced that irony is "sumthin' that's gotta lotta metal in it." Muhhhhhh.

Be that as it may, Coz and Peabs flew into Boston, and met up with our pimp friend. Why we were meeting him here instead of Chicago was beyond us, so we prepared ourselves for anything. And by that, Peabs means we did bongtokes of fermented turkey gravy (gobble!) and jacked off to Hindi gay porn during the entire flight to MA. Bovs all over your effing gizzard, you fucking Butterballs®!

Upon arrival, we were picked up in an early '70's Pinto and asked by McBride to wear blindfolds and sing "Hold My Hand" by Hootie and the Blowfish, changing every third word to "Asssssss". Strangely enough, Coz and myself had just done something similar with Andrew Ridgely the week before at a Sussex rim job gangbang/tea party. Duh. We were then escorted to an undisclosed location, and asked to remove our blindfolds.

Now, Peabs has seen some crazy shit in my day. Cosby, too. But what we laid our eyes on was by no means fucking oooh-jah. It was Heather Matarazzo, the quirky and by-all-means atrociously ugly star of "Welcome to the Dollhouse", defecating into a rather large fishbowl and sucking on what may have been the largest dildo known to mankind. Needless to say, it was quite the fucking sight. Bovs.

McBride took care of the introductions and soon left the room. Matarazzo turned to the both of us and said:

"Bill Cosby, I used to finger myself with Smuckers® jammy-jam when I watched you on television. And, Peabs, you brooding piece of ass; I used to cut out pictures of you from magazines, burn them, piss out the fire and freebase the ashes."

To which Coz replied:

"Bozzle!"

Pretty fucking original, Cosby. Anyway, moving on, the buttfucking uggs actress then asked for a favor that made even Peabs flinch:

"I plan to become a full-fledged dyke as soon as possible. I want you two to be my final male conquests. Coz, I want you to take this large fishbowl that I have shat in, and wash it out with your hot Afro-piss. Peabs, I want you to put that bowl on my head, dress up like an alien, and fuck me like the naughty spaceman Heather Matarazzo is."

And so I did. I'm not exactly proud of it. But frankly, if Peabs is what women want before becoming lab-maj munchers for life, who the eff am I to deny them such a request? Howevs, I'm still not sure if I was Heather's last D™; she didn't announce she was a 'bo until a few days ago. She mars all over your Rick Ocasek.

So why does Peabs bring this up?

Sure, Uncle Grambo's post announcing my past lover's lesbianism reminded me of our sick and twisted experience. But what really reminded Peabs was the coke-induced foursome yours effing truly, Dr. Bill Cosby, and former astronauts John Glenn and Sally Ride had aboard Apollo 11 last night. Let's just say Sally gives Tang® a whole new fucking meaning. Plus, she's got one mighty tasty pussy. Schmobvs.

A world of made
is not a world of born-pity poor
obvs in
'04™.

Genital Reprimand.

2004-08-16T11:29:00.000-04:00

Peabs isn't exactly sure what possessed Dr. Bill Cosby to have a meeting with President George W. Bush this weekend. Maybe he was trying to dig up some new dirt to help the Obvs in '04™ Campaign. Or perhaps it's because they used to blow countless amounts of gram-long rails while giving each other hand-jobs in the back rooms of Houston-area bathhouses. Obvs. Either way, Coz returned to the campaign headquarters a bit more fired up than usual. She mars. My guess? They probably picked up some pre-op trannies, dressed them up as sheep, and re-enacted an episode of "Fear Factor." Duh.

Be that as it may, Peabs is still peeling the tuna pellets off my gargantuan nutsack after this weekend's debaucherous affairs. You see, Obvs in '04™ Campaign archivist C. Friggs was married on Saturday, and I can't tell you how many tees I bovsed upon. Bovs. Lest we forget, Coz was busy doing shmears-knows-what with Dubya, so Peabs had to pick up the effing slizz. Luckily, there was plenty of prime snatcharoo looking to introduce yours effing truly to their Aunt Flo. Gobble!

Peabs knew the wedding was going to be a treat when I scored some premium fucking smack from world-reknown douchebag Pete Doherty. For being a fucking lightweight, Pete certainly had some high-grade shit. Shmears. It usually takes Peabs about a dozen balloons to catch a fucking buzz anymore; but this horse was effing oohjah. Honestly, from the first hit, Peabs felt like I was getting blown by a whore who had the head of Bea Arthur and the body of Len Bias. Schmobvs.

Anywizz, the actual wedding was a blur. It was basically a "who's-who" in Michigan drug addicts and swingers. Even famed comedian Lenny Bruce made an appearance! Man, that guy can fucking party. He's been dead for almost 40 years and he can still inject a needle with more ease than anyone Peabs has ever seen. Except for Cosby, obvs. Bruce and yours effing truly decided it would be fun to see if the waitresses wanted to snort some H, make some butter bullets and have an assfucking orgy in the middle of the dance floor. Needless to say, I hadn't fisted that many non-prostitutes since Tuesday. Robvs.

That being said, Peabs must take off early today. I have to be in Massachusetts for an Obvs in '04™ Campaign rally. Hopefully the toothless cocksucking hooker I met at the wedding this weekend will give me an Andretti on the way to the airport. Bovs on your fucking bloody vag, you fucking dildos.

Even your clit-ring cladden grandmother would go down on Peabs. Duhvs. Isn't that right, Dr. Bill Cosby?

"Myyy grandma likes the Jell-OOOOOOOOOOOOO®!! Flazzum fozzle bozz, Fozzie Bear!"

And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
your
obvs in
'04™.

The William Tell Overture

2004-08-12T10:30:00.000-04:00

We all know my good friend Damore. Once you get past the fact that he's a surly fucking bastard, he's a pretty fun guy to party with. Peabs has known him for most of my life, and in a way he's the man who introduced me to Dr. Bill Cosby. You see, years ago, Damore used to direct adult films, all of which starred the great Peter North. Peabs was taking lessons in jazz trajectory from the famed porn-star, who had starred in a little-known snuff film entitled "William Tells All." North's co-star? You guessed it. Coz. Schmobvs.

The film is rather brilliant. Peter North is well-known for his massive loads, and the movie centers around him shooting apples off the head of Coz with his jazz. Upon seeing this masterpiece, I knew I needed guidance. So Damore introduced us. Cosby just happened to be at North's Van Nuys pad, smoking crack and masturbating with a can of Castrol®. We had met a few times before amongst the NYC club scene, but this encounter was the beginning of our wonderful friendship. Bovs smothered on your effing tees, Coz.

Anywizz, there is actually a point to this story. This morning, Peabs was supposed to have an exclusive interview with Diane Sawyer on Good Morning America regarding the Obvs in '04™ Campaign. Needless to say, the interview didn't go as planned. She mars on your Kareem Abdul-Jabbars, you fucking handjob.

Cosby and yours effing truly decided to go on a bit of a Mali binge last night and apparently the good doctor bet Peabs that I couldn't pull a "William Tell" on the lovely Diane Sawyer. Since I have a wicked gambling problem, I took the bet. Obvs.

Well, anyone that watched GMA today knows full well that Peabs did not appear. With my morning cup of coffee, I decided to blow about 14 speedball rails, and I was feeling decidedly oooh-jah. When I entered the ABC studios and laid eyes on Diane, Peabs immediately placed a golden delicious square on her pretty head, and whipped out my effing D™. I know what you're thinking: Tasty.

You can pretty much guess the rest. Wait, what's that, Coz?

"Did you flazzum her falafel bozzle?"

If you must know, Peabs started to hyperkinetically beat off, while screaming "Gobble, gobble!" at the top of my lungs. And yes, I shot the apple clear off of Diane Sawyer's head with my moneyshot. It brought new meaning to bovsing on one's tees. Robvs.

Why don't people understand that Peabs is a turkey? Shmears. I guess you, my loyal followers, will have to convince the American public in November that it is okay to elect a drug-addicted, hooker-fucking pretty boy into office. Bovs.

Ladies, don't be afraid to admit your love for Peabs. I understand that when you're as fucking gorgeous as I am that it can be a tad intimidating. Fear not, whores. I'll fuck you sideways and blow ketamine off your ass-cheeks. We'll go out for a power lunch, and Peabs will fingerfuck you before you can order your second single malt. You know you want it. Call me Peabs De Leon,'cause Peabs'll explore your fucking tees and go spelunking in your vaggie-vag. Schmobvs.

"somewhere it is Spring and sometimes
people are in real:imagine
somewhere real flowers,but
I can't imagine real flowers for
obvs in
'04™.

You Want The Moneyshot On Your Fucking Face?

2004-08-11T12:06:00.000-04:00

When Peabs is in midst of an election campaign, I am stressed out beyond all belief. Take for instance when Peabs ran for a seat in the Michigan House of Representatives; I was so effing consumed with the election that, in order to relieve tension, I would fuck upwards of 165 call girls a night. In fact, I used it as an angle to get votes from Michigan assembly line workers. And, obvs, it worked. They were able to relate to my genius metaphor; my campaign slogan: "Peabs, an assembly worker for your generation. And by assembly worker, we mean he lines up a bunch of coke-whores in a row and ass-fucks them." Bovs.

Anywizz, since running for President is about the biggest election possible, it's clear that Peabs has been tense these past few months (hence my hiatus, massive consumption of copious hard narcotics, etc). Every once in a while, in order to get my mind off of government and politics, I like to gather up a few friends and go searching for orgies. And not just any kind of orgies. No no, my friend. Baby lotteries. Duh.

I've spoken about baby lotteries in the past. Dr. Bill Cosby turned me onto them, and I've been hooked ever since. Since Peabs is a well-known drug, sex and gambling addict, baby lotteries are one of the few things that can cover all my vices! Obvs.

Howevs, last evening, Coz filled me in on the newest orgy craze sweeping the nation: Moneyshot Parties. Gobble, gobble.

So we rounded up a crew, picked up a kilo of blow, and hopped in my Maybach. Destination: Topeka, Kansas-- the Moneyshot Party capital of the Midwest. Believe Peabs when I say this; there isn't a hotter city. So much jazz. Dripping. Everywhere. Schmobvs.

It was as if the whole city was taking part. I walked into a convenience store and the clerk's face was covered in oooh-jah booh-jah; headed to the local church to pray and shit, and three priests were giving an alter boy a bukkake. It was fucking magical. She mars all over your effing Wonka® bars.

Our little posse decided to hit up the party at the estate of famed psychiatrist William C. Menninger. While Peabs had never met the good doctor, he was a pal of Cosby's, and a supporter of the Obvs in '04™ Campaign. Quite frankly, any many that Coz describes as "razzle bozzle off the tassle bassle" is a-okay with Peabs. Robvs all over your fucking lab-maj, you effing vaginal secretion.

Menninger's place was figs. Granda, it's about a tenth of the size of my summer cottage at Cape Cod, but for Topeka this was the equivalent to the fucking Taj Mahal. Every room had magenta plush carpet and velvet couches. According to Coz, Menninger-- or "Captain Cumshot," as he liked to be affectionately referred as-- had been throwing Moneyshot Parties since the heydays of the 1970's sexual revolution. Which is pretty fucking impressive for a guy that died in 1966. Shmears. Be that as it may, these parties were very much underground until America's recent infatuation with "tees-bovsing." Bovs.

Anywizz, the party was fucking absurd. We blew through our coke in about an hour, but luckily a few partygoers were freebasing some aspartame and snorting Taco Bell™ Fire sauce mixed with special K. And while the high was amazing, Menninger's cryptic phrases kept freaking me out. An example:

"Peabs, having a freedom from fear (anxiety) with a resulting true serenity and not a pseudo absence of tension."

All the fucking salsa and ketamine in the world couldn't help Peabs make any effing sense of that. So I asked Dr. Bill Cosby to translate:

"Flazzum bizzle, frizzle flizzum, and not a possum wossum of razzle bozzle! Jell-OOOOOOOOOOOOOO®!"

Ahh, yes. Of course.

So anyway, moral of the story: if you're on a lot of drugs, and fictionally running for President of the United States, take a washed-up television star and some friends to a Topeka orgy hosted by a dead shrink you've never heard of. It's the best way to kill a Tuesday night. Well, that and "nun-fucking," but we've already covered that. Fobvs.

It's so fucking hard being this fucking pretty. Duhvs.

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your
obvs in
'04™.

Teabagging Orphans.

2004-08-10T09:59:00.000-04:00

"Getting my ass eaten out by a malaria-infested Somalian girl makes me want to sing "Auld Lang Syne" at the top of my shmears! Altogether now!

Should auld acquaintance suck my cock,
And never bovs upon,
The flames of rimjobs extinguished,
And eat my ass 'til gone?
Is thy kind D™ now grown so cold
In that loving tees of thine,
That thou canst never once reflect
On old-long-syne?"

--Direct quote from Peabs last evening.

Peabs has something to admit. I mistook a sheet of blotter acid for temporary tattoos last night, and found myself soaked in so much LSD that I thought it was New Years Eve in 1994. Shmears.

And while my '94 NYE was certainly memorable, it's not exactly something I ever wanted to repeat. It's clear that Peabs lacks anything even remotely related to "morals," but the stunt yours effing truly and Dr. Bill Cosby pulled almost a decade ago makes even Peabs feel guilty. Somewhat. Obvs.

You see, I was caught up in the vapid, inane world of modeling, and Peabs was easily the hottest supermodel in the fashion industry. A coke and mescaline binge with Coz one night made us realize that we should be doing something a little more significant with our lives; you know, as opposed to freebasing crack rock and anal-banging she-males. Duhvs.

So we decided to join the Peace Corps.

We were sent to work in a Somalian orphanage in November of 1994. Personally, I had grown up in an affluent, rich motherfucking suburb, so Peabs found the meager surroundings shocking and deplorable. Cosby, on the other hizz, was a different story. He grew up in a ghetto-ass area outside of Philly, so the only difference was that Somalia lacked steak sandwiches and John Kruk's amputated left testicle. Robvs.

For a solid month, we provided assistance to the orphanage, staying relatively drug-free (and by drug-free, I mean we blew rails of Mali only every other hour). Howevs, Peabs noticed a lacking in the abundance of prostitutes, as opposed to all other war-torn, third-world shithole countries. I was beginning to grow quite concerned. Schmobvs.

Luckily, Coz knew a little more about Somalian orphanages than yours effing truly:

"If you want the flazzum, dip your bozzle in their mizzles!"

Few people know this, but orphans love getting teabagged. Especially Somalian orphans. And if you go so far as to bovs on their respective tees? Well, they'll do just about anything for you. Duh. They're fucking orphans.

Anywizz, Dr. Bill Cosby and myself decided to ring in the new year by having our own version of the Boston Tea Party. Needless to say, every orphan who left that party was nicknamed Earl Grey for life. Obvs.

As fun as it was to dip my nutsack into the mouths of parentless Somalians, I knew that Peabs never wanted to relive such a moment. Why, you may ask? Because it was so fucking tigs the first time. How could it possibly be any better? It's kind of like doing your first line of blizz; every line afterwards will never compare. Granda, that never stopped Peabs from trying. Hogsviously. Or Coz, for that matter. Right, Coz?

"Flizzumalutley!"

What? What's that? Oh, Peabs is brilliant? No fucking shit.

our can'ts were born to happen
our mosts have died in more
our twentieth will open
wide a wide open door:
obvs in
'04™.

She Mars.

2004-08-09T10:18:00.000-04:00

There was one point last Saturday evening, in which Peabs was waiting for Dr. Bill Cosby to return to Uncle Grambo's birthday fiesta (with some microdots and blow, duhvs), that I went to the bathroom to cook up a scorching hit of smack. Schmobvs.

Now, I have seen God many times in my life; the first time I did acid in 1972, when I scaled Mount Rushmore tripping on mescaline during the Great Depression, looking in the mirror everyday, etc. Two nights ago was different. Maybe it was the horse. Maybe it was the sheer brilliance that was occurring at the club that evening. Maybe it's because Peabs is so fucking fascinating, and I have such a mammoth-sized penis. Shmears.

In my past experiences, God had never spoken to me. He would just kind of look at Peabs in awe, wink a few times, and attempt to kiss me. And while it appeared as though this time was to be no different than the past, suddenly God looked to yours effing truly and said:

"Honestly, Peabs. What's Indira Gandhi like in the sack?"

Amazing, G. She could suck the quaalude out of a unicorn's ooh-jah. Obvs.

Anywizz, my encounter with God while smacked out in the bathroom of a Detroit nightclub pretty much summed up the Obvs in '04™ Campaign weekend jaunt to my home state. And while Coz didn't appear until about 4am with merely three eightballs and one sheet, Peabs still managed to have an effing tigs time. You know why? Because drugs aren't everything, my friends.

Don't get me wrong; they play a major part in Peabs' existence. But in no way do they outweigh ass-fucking and salad-tossing. Actually, now that I think about it, they're pretty much even. Bovs on your fucking tees.

More later. Coz and yours effing truly need to have a heart-to-heart talk about how badly I was skimmed on the blow this weekend. And by "heart-to-heart talk" I mean I'll probably say "obvs" a bunch of times, and Coz will say "flazzum flozzle bizzle bazzle" and everything will be effing she mars all over your Joe Dumars. Fucking vaccuum, that Cosby! Gobble, gobble.

It's so obvs how badly you all want to fuck me.

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination,when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your
obvs in
'04™.

Dirty Thirty.

2004-08-06T10:31:00.000-04:00

Many of you understand the difficulty in being drop dead gorgeous. Peabs understands more than anybody, for I am the most beautiful man to have ever lived. Schmobvs. But Peabs wasn't always as confident as I am today- The New York Times calls it "obnoxious arrogance", but they can ess my fucking cock.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to be seven years old and have a 19-inch D™? Shmears.

While certainly I have been taking part in kinky, dirty sex since birth, Peabs still found it awkward when my professors used to hit on me. Sure, I know what you're saying; this is what Peabs should expect if you're a well-endowed Oxford-educated scholar, attending Harvard Law before the age of ten.

This is why I turned to drugs.

Well, that and Dr. Bill Cosby. Robvs.

I remember vividly, at age 10, when Coz and yours effing truly were high-profile scenesters within the NYC club circuit. It was a great way to blow off steam in between fashion shoots and bar exams. Obvs. Peabs had already been exclusively blowing rails since 1965, but I had never tried E. Okay, that's a lie. Peabs actually used to deal E out of my Tribeca loft in '79 in exchange for hand jobs and Gyne-Lotrimin. At any rate, everybody in the scene wanted to fuck me (a ten-year-old A-list supermodel, who wouldn't want to fuck this perfect body?). And let's not forget about Coz; he was still riding high from the worldwide success of "Leonard Part 6." Schmobvs.

Anywizz, one particular night, Cosby and Peabs were at the closing of the late, great Paradise Garage, in Greenwich Village. I was fucking Cheryl Tiegs at the time, and Coz was with multiple women. This happened to be the night of my first ecstasy-induced public orgy. Hey, Peabs was a late-bloomer, so suck it! Gobble, gobble!

My lovely supermodel fuck-buddy felt it would be a good idea to pop about 5 or 6 pills and find a bunch of other really amazing-looking people and have wild, exhibitionist sex with them. With that, Peabs turned to her and responded:

"Tigs."

Now, let's set the record straight. I meant to say "Tiegs", but it came out wrong, which I attribute to the half-dozen bumps of K Peabs had ingested for dinner. Be that as it may, this was an epic night. Not only did I take part in my very first (of many, duhvs) ecstasy-induced public orgy, but I also created a word that is still used to this very day in everybody's everyday language. Tigs.

Peabs knows what's on your mind. You're wondering: where the fuck is this fucking fuck-up going with all this brilliant nonsense? And that's a legit question. Right now, Coz and my pretty motherfucking self are driving to my hometown of Detroit, to attend Uncle Grambo's 30th birthday extravaganza. Let's just say we plan to create even more unintelligible phrases and take part in ecstasy-induced public orgies all evening long. Bovs on everyone's tees, you fucking vibrators!

Happy birthday, Bizness. Peabs loves you. Obvs. And so does Dr. Bill Cosby. Right, Coz?

Happy flazzum, Grizzum Grazzum!

beauty makes terms
with time and his worms,
when loveliness
says sweetly Yes
to wind and cold;
and how much earth
is Madge worth?
Inquire of the flower that sways in the autumn
she will never guess.
but i know

my heart fell dead before:
obvs in
'04™

Crystal Meth & Christianity: A Match Made In Heaven. Or A Lab. Obvs.

2004-08-05T10:23:00.000-04:00

Shmears.

Peabs isn't a terribly religious man. This may or may not be a factor in the upcoming election, but it doesn't change the fact the I love to have sex with nuns. They're just so damn sexually repressed, they get a little wild in the sack, if you know what Peabs means; and what I mean is, they love it in the ass. Hard. Bovs.

Anyway, before Peabs pisses off every religious activist in the country, let me at least come clean and say that I did some realization last evening, with the help of a coked-out Dr. Bill Cosby. If I want to be President this or any year, I am going to need to broaden my religious horizons to something more than just nun-fucking. As arrogant and wonderful and popular and pretty and, as the French say cru, animalistic, avec un grand âne as Peabs is, I am not bigger than Jesus. Close. Certainly there have been times when on 'shrooms in which Peabs thought I was the son of God, but who hasn't? Shmears. I also think I'm a fucking turkey, so suck it. Gobble, gobble!

Okay, I am clearly babbling this morning, so I will atttempt to get to the point. Upon arriving in the States last evening, Coz and yours effing truly decided to have an Obvs in '04 Campaign fundraiser, and invite the most powerful religious figures in the United States. Kerry and Bush can battle for votes in Iowa all they effing want; no way in fucking hell could they match the debaucherous display Peabs and Dr. Bill Cosby put on last night. Duhvs.

The night, admittedly, began a little awkward. One of the first guests to arrive was Sister Betty Obal, of the Sisters of Loretto. I knew Betty from back in my swinging days at Hopkins med, and she actually claims that Peabs was the reason she joined the clergy. Hey, I didn't force my D™ in your mouth, or that special K up your nose, Sister, so don't blame Peabs if you used to be a kinky mama! Needless to say, I was a bit nervous when I saw her walk through the door; but this changed when our eyes met. It was like we were in a Baltimore bathhouse again. Schmobvs.

Coz also had himself quite a night. I know what you're thinking; obvs Coz did. And while every night is party night for Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable, he never seizes to amaze Peabs. Last night was no exception. In all honesty, most religious figures are not very pretty- none nearly as pretty as Peabs, but you could make a milkshake out of Jude Law and Brad Pitt's jazz, insert it into Gisele's vaggie vag, and the result would still be maybe a quarter as pretty as my right cheekbone. Shmears. Anywizz, Coz made sure that we'd have some call girls and crank at the fundraiser in order to liven up the party. Let's just say, the last I saw of Coz was when he grabbed former president of Union Theological Seminary, Rev. Donald W. Shriver Jr., and led him into a room full of methed-out prostitutes, each named after the respective seven natural wonders of the world. I've heard that the Lighthouse of Alexandria tosses a mean fucking salad. Is that true, Dr. Bill Cosby?

You bet your bazzle bozzum flozzle! Flazzum!

Even if you hate me, you can't stop reading Peabs. Face it, I'm the most fascinating person in the fucking universe. Duh.

my girl's tall with hard long eyes
as she stands, with her long hard hands keeping
silence on her dress, good for
obvs in
'04™

Butt Plugs & Cock-Rings & Peabs, Oh My!!!

2004-08-04T14:36:00.000-04:00

If there's anything everybody knows about Peabs, it's that I love women. Dirty, skanky whores, to be exact. Sure, we shan't forget my lustful appetite for narcotics, alcohol and designer clothes. But filthy-ass, diseased, crack-addicted sluts are my main vice. Dr. Bill Cosby's, as wizz. Obvs.

Contrary to popular belief, Peabs was not always in Thailand during my sabbatical. Oh no. I can only stand being away from American gentleman's clubs for so long. Duh. A few weeks back, yours effing truly and Coz decided to make a low-key visit to the States, to take part in the bachelor party for the Obvs in '04 Campaign archivist, C. Friggs. Now, while Peabs doesn't condone marriage of any kind, I do condone bachelor parties. I mean, shmears; how can one not enjoy mindless fun- like doing bongtokes of afghan kush and getting fingerfucked by strippers named after seasons? Ess my effing D™, you fucking clit-rings. Gobble!

Anyway, whilst bovsing on numerous tees, Peabs became smitten with one particular lass. Her name was Sequoia ("you know, like, after the tree!"). She was wildly stupid, but gave one sloppy motherfucking beej; I had not had a hummer like that since I was running Warner Bros. and hosting the premiere for "Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead". Thanks go out to Joanna Cassidy and Keith Coogan for that miraculous suckjob! Shmears.

Moving on, it wasn't just the head that turned me onto Sequoia. While normally Peabs digs chicks with brains- and by brains, I really mean gigantic fucking tees, oooh-jah, boohjah!- I was really into this particular girl's lack of knowledge about any fucking thing imaginable. When I mentioned to her that I wrote Catcher in the Rye, her response was: "oh, well, did you play baseball?". Now, Peabs has heard this response before. But she really fucking meant it. And with that, I whipped out my cock and blew a hot load onto her left ear. Schmobvs.

Currently, I am on a flight back to Detroit. The next few days should be absolute madness; I plan to do countless interviews with the media, ass-fuck at least anywhere between four and one thousand and forty call girls, and blow rails with Dr. Bill Cosby. Aren't you excited, Coz?

Youuuuuuuuu've gots to know that my flazzum is still a little flizzum on the bazzle bozzle!

Understandably so, Coz is a little weary about coming back into the public eye. And for good reason. I'm sure you all heard about his comments towards African-Americans, the way they speak, and their economic status. If anything, I find it laughable, considering my running mizz made all of his money speaking absolute fucking nonsense on television for so many years. If I wasn't tripping my fucking balls off on blotter acid and AMT right now, Peabs wouldn't be able to understand what the fuck "flazzum bozzle bop" meant eiths. Robvs.

So, with that, I'm going to pop a bottle of oxy and try to relax on the remainder of my flight (i.e. give the flight attendant a John Wilkes Booth, duhvs). More from the campaign trail tomorrow. Ejaculate all over your effing breasts, you dildo-loving hussies! Bovs.

six are in a room's dark around)

five
(six are in a room's)
one

is red

and(six are in)
four
obvs in
'04™

Don’t Call It A Comeback, I’ve Been Here For Shmears.

2004-08-04T10:10:00.000-04:00

Bovs.

A wise man once said: "Peabs, I used to long to be like you... to fist Chlamydia-infested harlots; to snort countless grams of ketamine. And with your retirement, my attempts to achieve the American Dream have become futile. Please come back, Peabs. You are everything to me. A guru, a patron saint. An adonis."

And while Peabs agrees with everything Joe Lieberdurst has to say about yours effing truly, it was still difficult to leave the lifestyle I had been enraptured with these past few months. Duhvs.

So, y'all are probably wondering a few things. Don’t you worry, my lovelies; Peabs just blew an eight-ball of Arm & Hammer®, and freebased some Midol®. Schmobvs. I'm ready to answer any of your questions. Below, I have transcribed a CNN exclusive interview Peabs recently took part in; my first interview in months:

CNN: Peabs, where have you been all this time?

PEABS: Peabs has been partying on the west coast of Thailand- the Phang-nga bay, snatch. Most of my days consist of speaking with my American contacts regarding the Obvs in '04™ Campaign, mainlining Thai heroin into my toes (no trackmarks, obvs), and taking part in filthy assfucking orgies with my friend and yours, Dr. Bill Cosby. I've also found time to collectively bovs upon the tees of everyone within a 400 mile radius. Mmmmmm, ain't nothing hotter than Krabi vag. Except for my hot fucking D™. Hogsviously.

CNN: Speaking of Coz, how is he?

PEABS: Why don't I let him answer that for himself?

DR. BILL COSBY: Youuuuuuuuuuu've gots to know that the flazzum bozzle is bazzle razzle, like the flizzum puddin' falafel boffle!

CNN: Is it true, Rep. Peabs, that your campaign has gone south since your hiatus?

PEABS: Let's face it, fictional CNN reporter. I was delusional. Peabs honestly thought that I could make a run at the White House. And to be honest, for a while there, I really had a shot. America was coming around. But, unfortunately, we're years away from getting someone like Peabs into office. I still plan to make some noise come this November, don't get me wrong. But it's the kind of noise you hear when I'm in midst of fingerbanging your grandmother. Or smoking crack with Louis Farrakhan.

COSBY: Bozzle!

CNN: Is it true that you think that you're a turkey?

PEABS: Peabs is indeed a turkey. But you best try me with an assload of gravy, because sometimes I get a little dry. Gobble, gobble!

CNN: Rep. Peabs, Dr. Bill Cosby, we thank you for your time.

PEABS: And I'd like to thank you for that hot effing rim-job you gave me. Shmears on your fucking lab-maj.

So, needless to say, Peabs is back. I know you're all breathing a sigh of relief. I understand my relevance in American pop culture; Peabs is a fucking phenomenon, a beacon if you will. And without me, well, your lives would be ordinary. Filled with ennui. I exist only to be pretty, brilliant and high. And to make your life worth living. And to give the Bush twins a bukkake casserole for lunch. Obvs.

Stay tuned for more as yours effing truly and Coz make our way back to the States, and into your bedroom. Speedballs will be provided.

Bovs on your fucking tees, you handjobs.

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more"
obvs in
'04™