I describe my baboon as baboon-shaped. Her name's Babs, which is
short for baboon. Sunday I pushed her to the library where we were
given a library balloon. It had snot on it, the balloon, because the li-
brarian had the Shanghai flu. I'll take my free-book-borrowing busi-
ness to Havana, Cuba, where snotty librarians are chippy chipper &
well & they never trim their dry quims & they're not bound for hell.

When Sheila Moon Glow was twenty-seven she had a large wart removed from her brother's nose. The money that it cost came indirectly from the Sheila Moon Glow Endowment for the Arts. After a brief recovery her brother went on to develop several other warts on his ****. Sheila made available money to have them frozen off.

For Palmerston North woman Val Burr, 71, the parole hearing process is one she’s used to. She dreads each August as she once again faces begging a panel of people not to let her daughter’s killer out of jail.

On September 15, 2002, 16-year-old John Wharekura knocked on the door of Tanya Burr’s Hilda St. flat and asked her for a piece of paper and pen, supposedly to write a note for a friend in a neighbouring flat.

When the 21-year-old turned, he went inside and stabbed her 15 times. At the time, he was one of New Zealand’s youngest killers and had an undiagnosed psychosis.

John Wharekura was 16 when he killed Tanya Burr, making him one of New Zealand's youngest killers at the time. Photo / NZME
John Wharekura was 16 when he killed Tanya Burr, making him one of New Zealand's youngest killers at the time. Photo / NZME

He was freed in 2018 following his 14-year non-parole period but recalled the following year after problems with adhering to parole conditions and his mental health. He has since been convicted of assault offences in prison.

In 2021, he was charged with wounding with intent to cause grievous ****** harm relating to an assault on another prisoner. The Auckland District Court confirmed to the Rotorua Daily Post no conviction was entered because he had an insanity defence.

Bob's homosex-themed blanket factory attracted a youthful lesbian of 30 named Donna to apply for a job. "I wanna make lesbian blankets to keep lesbians warm in Alaska," she told Bob with tears in her eyes. "Well then try this! It's our new Klondike blanket!" He exclaimed with a lot of passionate excitement in his voice.

I was driving through the fiercest global-warming-spawned blizzard ever, returning to my favorite gun-free zone, when an avalanche (like the one that killed Michael Jackson) buried me. I suspected that I would die soon (or soon enough) if Christ didn't intercede chop chop! I remembered several Bible verses and the Russian adage: “pray to God but row to shore.” I thought of my mother, Mather (Pa.), Jerry Mathers and the logic behind injecting pigeon **** to remove tattoos. Suddenly and unexpectedly out of nowhere demons pulled my car (with me in it) to safety. “Hey, where's Jesus?” I asked. “He'll be here in five minutes,” they answered. “Five minutes?” I guffawed & pshawed. “He may as well not bother!”

SLAY THE MONARCH & THE PROGRAM whilst ***** smokes
shadows upon walls indebting ***** to plucky seven vinegar strokes
I see no point projecting unlaid, lay-about chicks from routine coax
of Kabuki theater flim-flamming quackery that's a penny-ante hoax
wrecked banjaxed on grimy floors sudsed-in crap in which it soaks
I'll never see Cleveland alive as Mother is making it with some fly
whose stolen Detroit dives to hell under ***** bucks who are high
on fed cheese that is curdled & matured on the Chinese ****** lie
broadcasted across seas placid by radio hoo-hoo below half-life sky
tenting fortified wines blended with hops, barley and mildewed rye
in bath tubs devoid of naked wenches morally-wonked and gun-shy
working the angles on de-lousing Camden: old New Jersey's pig sty
because the sight of immorally-uncivil plans blind the Lutheran eye
Subhan Allah, David & Goliath, Samson & Delilah must wilt & die
as cities ***** & Gomorrah substituted fruit cake for pumpkin pie
legions of sodomites patrolled all alleyways as curfews didn't apply
when crusaders knighted moralistes Chrétiens were in short supply
& negroids unarmed had no choice in whitey nations but to comply
'cause guns over butter win the body-count, nobody alive can deny,
while prisoners without tongues are so stuck-up, they will not reply
till they overcome their dispositions as amputees tongue-tied & shy
about swift kicks to those Chaz Bono regions that cause men to cry
in an ionospheric register that shouldn't emanate from a normal dye
except in incorporated Amìr̃kà where each prison fry cook must fry
or suffer the fate that ruined commanding lieutenant William Bligh
whose sympathy was such that he'd have done better not to even try
tasteless breadfruit diplomacy upon a sweaty-palmed Christian guy
as it was a tipsy, get-go endeavor like herding cats & feeding slaves
or burying a whacked **** in any of Idaho's tourist-attracting caves
opposite a funky monument to governor Butch Otter making waves
without his buck teeth, quaffing ****** from barrels lacking staves
to enshrine an ape-scraped pate or picnicker's litany of close shaves
from the living, dying by demi-godlike, semi-doctors' clots & raves
in the bowels of the A.M.A. & the C.D.C. for Luciferian conclaves
while suppressing experiences of saving at Equibank in olden days
before gay Pittsburgh was inundated with homosexual lesbian gays
who imbibed ****-soaked chicory quenchers on pap-smeared trays

Ch. 1 : “Of course I don't like war, but Mexico is asking for it...”
My left knee hurt and I knew that I'd need left-knee surgery when I returned to the palace. Fortunately my mother, who is the queen of England, wasn't home so I hung my ****** on the throne to air out. It was just 2 minutes later when the red phone rang: “Mexico has dropped a couple of nuclear H-bombs on Pakistan.”; “*******!” I exclaimed. I immediately contacted central command. “This is the prince of England! I want 70,000 soldiers dispatched to Mexico right now!!!”; “Yes sir!” Said the guy on the other end.

Ch. 2 : Cindy's *** puckered like a strangled duck unused to French bread dough. “Did you order the attack on Mexico?” She asked.
   “Yes I did Cindy. As prince of England I see it as my duty.”
   “I love you,” Cindy said, “more than I love God.”
   “Thanks Cindy, but I'm not God, I'm only the prince of England.”

Ch. 3 : “Royal Duties Beyond the Horizon”
My attack on Mexico saved billions of lives in Pakistan and the king of Pakistan knew it. He called me as soon as he could.
   “Please your royal, highly-worshiped Prince of England,” he began, “accept the gratitude of the people of Pakistan for what you have done to save them from being killed by Mexicans.”
   “You're welcome,” I said. “I was simply doing my job as prince of England. Let's pray that Mexico has learned her lesson.”

Ch. 4 : “Mexico Apologizes”
It didn't take long for el presidente de Mexico to see the error of his ways. In a letter sent to me from the president's house in Mexico City, the president wrote: Dear Prince of England: I'm so sorry for dropping a couple of  nuclear H-bombs on Pakistan the other day. I don't know why I did it. I promise Sir Royal Prince of England that I won't ever do it again. Please forgive me. I am really sorry.  ~ Sincerely, the president of Mexico

Ch. 5 : “Apology Accepted”
As the prince of England I know that nobody's perfect, not even the president of Mexico. I accepted his apology on behalf of the people of Pakistan whom the president of Mexico had dropped a couple of  nuclear H-bombs on several days before.

Just wait José! Someday your knees will buckle and you will experience asthma and your chihuahua will succumb to dog cramps and your sister will too and then your cousin will double over in dog-cramp agony till nobody's breathing on their own anymore.

I saw a baby at Walmart in the baby section in a baby stroller laughing and carrying on like babies do so I tell the mother and she's like "So what?" and I'm like "I was just sayin'" and she's like "I bet you can't even have a baby!" and I'm like "Here's my cell number" and she's like "I don't wanna call you" and I'm like "That's my prison cell number. I just escaped!"

On Mount Washington proto-Pittsburghers were drunk on Iron City Beer. Negroes laughed at them and made funny faces like they were in Africa. Rocks were thrown and windows were smashed into a million sherds. Large women who looked like Rosie O'Donnell knelt before a statue of Fred Pittsburgh (Pittsburgh's founder) and threw up slimy chunks of cottage cheese. It was sickening.

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Jesus! How Paris has changed since my childhood! I fondly remember accompanying Father to the rabbit presser to have oil squeezed from our bunnies. Oh the squeals they'd make! 100 bunnies rendered seven imperial gallons of top-quality lepus (rabbit) oil. Papa would always relent and allow sister & I to rub rabbit oil on each other's rabbit pouches. What great fun that was! "Well kiddies," he'd say in his grand French manner, "Mama will surely burn your toes off for rubbing each other's throbbing pockets with bunny oil!' We'd all fall down in hysterics at that and then roll into the nearest open sewer and drown.

Pish posh, **** ***, candy floss, dreck & dross, profit/loss, Hoss re-
mains Little Joe's boss. I ate a tuna fish when I was young. It jump-
ed into my mouth when I was asleep after I made it with the mother
of Little Bo Peep, pleaser of leased sheep & a creeper in a sea deep.

Quash David Rockefeller's C.F.R. & New World Order mobocracy
Reject the totalitarian 51-over-49 rule that's modernized democracy
that sets in stone by presidential directive this American plutocracy,
through indoctrinating pederasty & lesbian *** to beget pornocracy
N.W.O.-owned corporations promote the freshest of youthful faces
having Hillary F. Clinton lesbian relations in crowded public places
Moral citizens must subdue these shrub-scouts with military maces
then bind them together with cheap lamp cord, twine & shoe laces,
before scrubbing the scene clean to obliterate all ****-diving traces
from mobs bleeding the white-funded black & sallow yellow races,
they take up  phony causes in nine of ten clinically-disproven cases
running Manchurian patsies & *** kittens through menticidal paces
During 1 bowel movement it was Martin Luther King, Junior's day
Quickly I finished a bowel movement as I worked for neighbor pay
These broad swords are no bowel-movement match for slim sabers
as all mates in the throes of bowel movement sing like Jim Nabors
on steroidal ointments that haven't made normal pigs into gay boars
sashaying along wharves in the guise of San Francisco Bay ******
soliciting gay Rabbinical Jewish mariners on sight-seeing day tours
while propositioning ******-hating, Jesus-loving Christian sailors