Hey Baby Sheepus

Yo Freakus it's deal time. Whip out the plastic and let's repopulate this world with a person or two who doesn't suck! Please!

I'm putting the Hilton sisters, the Olsen Twins, Donald Trump and fuckin' Brad and Angelina on the block.

I want Hunter S. back. Even though he doesn't want to come back.

'kay, I'm putting the entire cast of Revenge of th' Splith on the block. All of 'em. And a sawbuck.

I want a random midieval peasant of your choosing.

I'm putting the entire Bush Admin up on th' block.

I know I can't get much for 'em. Tell you what- I'll throw a hand job in and you give me back that cat that got hit on South Street a couple weeks ago. It'll be a good HJ. Candles, Billie Holiday, everything. Just give me the fucking cat back.

Here's what you do- you trade the Bush Gang to satan for hitler and karen carpenter and then in heaven all the trains will purge on time.

HOOOO-ly shit. That was bad. Yeetz. Ah, fuck it. Arthur Anderson walked. Like my little peccadilloes add up to a hill of beans in this crazy world.

I remember when I was nine I came up with the awesome alternate lyrics to "Stairway To Heaven" after I read "Helter Skelter"------

And the blood on the wall/And the guts in the hall/Are the sign of a bitter struggle/And Charlie Manson's dog is licking/The blood that is dripping/From Sharon Tate's unborn baaaby...

I rocked when I was nine. I hadn't been Found Lacking yet. I loved Poe when I was six. Neddie was reading fucking Lovecraft when he was like four. He used to eat the sides of the pages. I'd read the books later and they'd be, like, a rabbit read them. He liked Tull though, later. Oh, hell- I liked that idiotic Pearl Jam record for a couple three days. whatta you going to do. Glass houses. They smash so nice. Plus when you think about it "English Settlement" is Tull minus the flute and plus a couple dozen IQ points. It's crazy crazy, baby.

O.K., O.K....hmmmmm...how about.....I'm putting the entire staff of VH1 up, everybody in Marketing in the universe, all the people who make motivational sales tapes, and every recording act on the charts. And I will personally off them any way you want. And Pearl Jam. I'll even whack Coldplay now even though the guitarist loaned me a tuner at Irvine Meadows. I don't give a fuck.

I want my fucking hope back.

I'm throwing in the senior staff of Arthur Anderson, Mariah Carey, all right wing talk show pundits and all Fox news "reporters".

All I want is Keith Moon.

Every time we lose someone like Keith the world gets that much less fun.

World's about as fun as a dandelion milkshake these days.

Your move, Bleakus.

Now THAT is a post, children. THAT is how you spell despair.