A schediastic hootenanny

More Sadly, No! fun:

The House That Wack Built.

There's also some new poo up at Clown Central Station, including the latest from the Man from Fuddles, and Michael Medved's kissy-face love letter to our beloved corporate overlords.

Hey, who here wants to give ol' Leonard some sleeping pills? Yeah.

All dramatic situations in the history of text:

A man is trying to kill another man. Why?

Fail to discuss.

I

ME: I hate people who do that thing.

MY BRAIN: But you do that thing!

ME: That thing? Me? No! Not never!

MY BRAIN: Very much yes that thing.

ME: It cannot be.

MY BRAIN: And yet it is.

ME: Well the people who do that thing, the other people, they are worse.

MY BRAIN: It seems improbable.

ME: Quiet, you.

II

ME: Whine, whine, whine. Quit your whining, Whiney.

MY BRAIN: To whom are you directing these exhortations to whine nae moor?

ME: To Whiney, the whining whiner. What a great heap of Mary is he.

MY BRAIN: Well, that's shown him. What shall we do now?

ME: Let's us write a LiveJournal entry about how hard is our life.

MY BRAIN: You...you suck. You suck.

ME: What?

III

ME: Oh, me. I was smart and funny once.

MY BRAIN: That's not how I remember it, and I'm in charge of remembering things.

ME: I'm in charge of pouring gin on you until you throb like a fat man's pulse after walking down a flight of stairs.

MY BRAIN: Good point.

IV

ME: I'm a monster. I hurt everyone I love.

MY BRAIN: What can I say?

ME: The bastards. Fuck every last one of them.

MY BRAIN: I'm going to just take a nap or something.

ME: I wonder if you can eat coconut flavored tanning lotion?

MY BRAIN: Yeah, you figure that out, Larry King.

V

ME: You know what I like is marijuana. Smoking it.

MY BRAIN: At last! Common ground.