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This
guy's dead and buried behind my toolshed. Do you
know how I killed him? I don't fucking remember,
so if you can refresh my mind then send me a computer
message to my computer screen and make it quick
because I'm going to make a tombstone for him
just so I can piss all over it.
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Another
freak factory falls into my Correctional Closet.
I swear, ever since I built that think, I've been
catching the biggest wads of dirt this side of
the Pecos. It took me a while to figure out how
to builf my Correctional Closet because the blueprints
I wrote up were just drawings of what looks like
an eagle and a rock with moss on fire, so I had
to improvise a little bit. For example, instead
of plywood, I used barbed wire. Instead of a ceiling,
I put a bunch of glue on some hay that fell off
the back of a dairy truck last November.
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Spanky
Seigal tastes what he thought was coffee but was
actually a cup full of Cliff's Coffee, a secret
blend of spices and coffee beans and automotive
fluids. My recipe is a secret though so I'm not
going to tell you fish-shoveling groutclowns the
secret because you'll just write it all over the
Interweb and you'll try to steal my ideas like
the time Gary Frewer stole my idea about the lamp
on wheels and he patented it before I had a chance
to. When I found out, I stormed over to Gary's
house and drove my car into his tree to warn him
about what happens when you try to put the scam
over old Cliff's eyes. It turned out that I had
the wrong house, but I called up Gary on the phone
and told him to go over to the other house and
look at that tree because he's next.
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After
a little deconstructive jaw surgery, Francis Erkelman
retreats to his janitorial closet so he can jack
off to Rotting Fruit Magazine Monthly. I hate
magazines, all the magazines these days have color
pictures and I can't stand color pictures because
they make my eyes go all crazy and start watering
like a Mexican whore. That's why I only go to
the grocery store at night, usually when they're
closed.
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The maid service in East Appleton
is severly lacking, as you can tell by this mule
that somebody crammed into a burlap sack of black
lace. I got a maid once but after the first time
she came over, she refused to come back again
because I know she just couldn't resist my charm
and manliness. She said it was because I had too
many dead things in my house that she didn't want
to get near, but that's a goddamn excuse that
anybody with two fingers can see through, so don't
believe her. I think her name was "Edna"
but I can't remember her last name. I think it
rhymed with the word "berry."
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Roofgeek wakes up after a long
night of solving crimes and producing substances
which adhere his blanket to the roof. See that
bottle of whiskey in his left hand? He fucking
stole that from me when I was stuck in the cabinet
underneath the sink.
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