Kitty Lee of the Morongo Basin asks: "Can 𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘴 experience the 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 love that normal couples enjoy on the Earth's surface?" Rue F. Collins of N.A.S.A. relies: "Yes, even though my late mother had an extra labial flap, she enjoyed copulating with foreigners till her **** ruptured."

WAS THAT AN ACCIDENT TOO? I loved you a million times more than your half-sister ever did before you backed over me with your Mack truck. "Sorry," you said. "Are you okay?" You asked. "Sure, I'm fine. I'll feel better after I have my crushed legs amputated." I replied, emotionally hurt and wondering about our future together.

JUANITA'S NEIGHBOR was an ex-lesbian from Canton (the city in Ohio). One day, as they were both revving their car engines, Juanita threw a beer bottle at a cop squatting behind a fire hydrant taking a **** (the cop, not the fire hydrant, was taking a ****). "You can't throw a beer bottle at a cop *******!" The ex-lesbian neighbor exclaimed because she was a crazy-*** cop-lover.

I want to be buried in a grave after I die, not three months before I die and then I want to smoke Mexican cigarettes with a gang of Cuban Negroes for a few days during my next unpaid vacation and then I want to go swimmin' with their crack *** women.

That camper toilet is shaped like Julia Roberts! Yes, that's right. It's useful for campers and their friends in the woods. Simply sit on it and let go. But why is it shaped like Julia Roberts? Because we have a licensing agreement with her brother Eric. He's the brains behind the former beauty.

With Tyrone, La Reessa had known a lot of passion but 1 day Ty &
his ****-buddy fled the ghetto 'cause they found 5 billion pesos with
a note that read: “To Tico for your crippled leg operation from your
good friend Santa Claus.” Later, after a few years had slipped by, at
dawn there was a knock on La Reesa's door. It was old Tyrone with
a smile on his face. “I'm back!” He announced. La Reesa was really
confused. “Tyrone! I thought you were dead!” She screamed as 875
Mexicans surrounded her with work visas. “Christ!” Tyrone yelled.
“Yes!” La Reessa divulged very annoyingly. “I'm the number 1 em-
ployer of temporary Mexican workers in southwestern Minnesota!”

The large shed out back provides ample storage space for stuff you bought and for stuff you shoplifted. The bathroom has a toilet for quiet nights of pooping alone or with your neighbor. You'll find a small kitchen near the door where people can be cooked if you're like Jeffrey Dahmer and eat people. There's no garage but you can park under a big oak tree that's been struck by lightning and's about to fall over and smash any car under it. There's a nest of rats under the porch but don't worry because the snakes will get them.

SEE WHAT REAL MEN ARE MADE OF at the autopsy exhibit. Food, fun and beer-swigging for all ticket-holders! Don't sit in the rain when you can be enjoying family-friendly Viet Cong-style executions! **** a ****** for mommy while large badgers claw at your entrails! Deep-throat a "big one" in a bread truck! ***** mysterious women with no clothes on! It's all for charity: Saint Jude's Cancer Torture Hospital!

“𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗺𝗮𝘀?” 𝗦𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮 𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘂𝘀 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱-𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗲'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗽𝘆 𝗻𝗲𝗽𝗵𝗲𝘄 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗽𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀é𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲. “𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝘆 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝗴𝗮𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲-𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘄𝗲'𝗿𝗲 𝗦𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝘁𝘀
𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗹𝘆 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘆 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆, 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗺 & 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗺!”

He's known as College Boy, a young do-gooder with a superior education. What's he doing here? Waiting for the opportunity to put his college-training to the test. But how? By saving us from ourselves. You see, College Boy has a heart that's bigger than the vastness of outer space and he means to use it to rescue men and women who have lost their way. College Boy sounds like an amazing individual. What's he doing now? He's urinating behind that garbage can over there near a large oak tree. Is he married? No. He's a homosexual. That's too bad because I could love him in a non-homosexual way of course. Yes, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.

If Elvis hadn't crapped out in 1977, would he still be alive? Possibly. Of course, he could've crapped out in any year since then. Did Elvis ever have spinal surgery? No. Could Elvis swim faster than a dolphin? No. Is it true that Elvis wore a ****-strap lined with mink fur? Yes, but only after midnight. Could Elvis speak Dutch? No. I read that Elvis liked women with large vaginas. Is that true? Yes. Could Elvis sing underwater? No. Nobody can, *******! My uncle could before he drowned. If Elvis were the president of Mexico, would he be able to speak Mexican? Unlikely.

Shortness is the biggest problem for midgets. Normal women don't want them and so they have to settle for ****** women. You can't force-feed midgets to make them taller. I tried that and it doesn't work.

Can an old, useless woman feel young & useful again without shooting herself or jumping from a high building? Elderly women are everywhere these days: in nursing homes, hooked up to dialysis machines, lurking behind funeral homes. There's no easy way to dispose of them. You can lock granny in a metal shed but often some nosy neighbor hears her moaning & calls the police. I don't know.

HOW MY AUNT SURVIVED A BRUTAL LESBIAN ATTACK - It rained for 5 months non-stop and there wasn't a dry lesbian anywhere. My aunt had managed to keep her underwear dry by utilizing an old Comanche technique that no Apache was allowed to use. One day, after her dog was eaten by a Pygmy, Aunt Joan shot a wet lesbian from across the street. This "****" earned her a first-place trophy from the Audubon Society, branch 47, Newark, California.

Hand me 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘧 𝘎𝘺𝘮 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘎𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘎𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦 please. The 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵...? You heard me! No I didn't! Yes you did! Hey! Who's the gay one here?!

Pass the lubrication jelly. No, I won't. Why not? Because I'm always doing it. What about last time? Didn't I reach over a dead body to get it for you? I guess so. Okay. Here it is. Really? Was that so hard? Was 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 so hard? If I wasn't rich, I would leave right now.

Substitutions, approximations & affiliations make my flat **** tired
among the countless ***** bank kiddies my "donations" have sired
with mucked up & mired résumé-writers happily ****** up & fired
who reject the notion that a Dutchman'll never quit a job once hired
We march in jackboots to combat the foot ball neuromas of Morton
that force us on long marches to stop, cut, soak our heels & shorten
the queer couplin' betwixt Gavin Gordon & Edward Everett Horton

HOW TO STOP A GAY GYM TEACHER - Hey! I said NO! Are you deaf and gay or just deaf?! HOW TO STOP YOUR GAY GYM TEACHER FROM BEING GAY - Just cut it out! I'm here for physical activity that does not include ******* with a gay gym teacher! HOW TO CONVINCE A GAY GYM TEACHER THAT YOU WANT TO BE MORE THAN FRIENDS - Hey, gay boy! Over here, behind the other gay gym teacher! HOW TO SUE A GAY GYM TEACHER TO RAKE IN THE BIG BUCKS - Look out! There's a lawyer in the parking lot and he's 500 billion times more gay than my gay gym teacher! Do you like restaurant equipment? I have several crude sketches that I made of restaurant equipment yesterday. If you want to purchase them, they're fifty dollars each. I also sketched a gay gym teacher.

You’re a bi-****** as a oneself & you’re able to impregnate yourself
without humpin’ your 2-ton mommy or her **** we all call Tommy
whose crucifixion complex could toss Jesus off His divine golf cart
before the Holy Ghost from our Trinity’s Godhead decides to depart
so as to be a ****** Cairo, Egypt Great Pyramid lab-mouse *******
who ain’t scared to hack off his nose to live as a big-mouth breather
Regardin’ some people, you can tune a guitar but you can’t tuna fish
with Bob Stack’s hay stack needle tugged from the *** of Lilly Gish
moments before she received her Hershey Highway back-door wish
without the hot dog bun, horse radish cream sauce & chutney relish
Michael Robinson’s ***** is intact after cosmetical lifts quite shady,
to become Michelle Obama: the 1st guy to be America’s First Lady,
with 2 breast implants, an inflamed Adam’s apple & a *** prostate
that Barry Soetoro strokes for Hillary Clinton, ex-Secretary of State
who scissors Huma ****** early, to munch Abedin’s fur-burger late
in the rockin’-chair posture that for this gay muffler sits automatical
like environmental pneumonia that is treated as non-opportunistical
When your head’s cold & painful hourly it’s blue lid con blah clock,
the first time large sodomites pork you as that new kid on the block
while your ** pigs out on ham sandwiches like lard-*** Mama Cass
you feel the bed-******’ urge to yell “Shut up ***** it’s Christ Mass!”
Slow down in slight places, you O.J. Hertz Rent a Car lobby jogger
because no hobbyest, steady at wobbling, loves a star hobby hogger
when pine knobs in the drain will work as a bad-*** knobby clogger
*** **** chemists are doing it though they claim it’s not food-grade
the vanilla extract synthesized from cow **** that cools in the shade
No you can’t use them big checks & debit cards before you are paid
while syphilitic trauma rots cortical bark for a butler & his fat maid
whose camaraderie is a syndicated-business-share differential inlaid
After the dog pound gassed my small cats, Jehovah sent me big rats
to tragedize the tragical rat-poisoning deaths of Newkirk belfry bats
in a hamlet what cares not for boys or girls or old women or men or
surgeons who cut Bruce Jenner’s ball vas to make him a loose tenor
All I want for Xmas is my ***** stomped like ***** Cooley’s wife,
till there ain’t no ***** dope-dealin’ left in my *****’s doped-up life
for burn-unit help in cooling the cauterization of pyrophorical strife
that’s more back-stabbin’ friendly than a big sike-a-**** with a knife
I have been critically wounded very mortally by Cupid’s lone arrow
that has cut my ulna arm bone right through its stupid bone marrow
like it broke for ****** sike-a-dikes Bonnie Parker & Clyde Barrow
under the Tommy guns of monkey-****-eating **** Clarence Darrow
who made the widest lanes on the streets of logic illogically narrow
to constrict the spastic free-will of free-wheelin’-sassy Cissy Spacek
with the wish of recreatin’ a Forest Lawn-spazzy Missy encasement

𝗜𝗳 𝗚𝗲𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲 𝗢𝗿𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝟭𝟵𝟱𝟬 𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲
𝙉𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙉𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙮-𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧, 𝗮 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝙉𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙀𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙮-𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁
𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝟭𝟬 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁-𝗠𝗮𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲 & 𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗲.