[an error occurred while processing this directive]

I won these toys at the fair. The carny with the lobster hand was mad when I won. When I get home, I am going to eat both of these. They told me the future and now they must be killed. Stab stab.

THIS IS A MAGAZINE ABOUT hate. READ IT.

I'm still not supposed to talk about that. The lawyer told me not to.

I thought this tiger was just sleeping but the zookeeper told me it was dead. I thought that was pretty funny. I laughed so hard, I choked on my corndog and had to have an artificial lung implanted to repair the monster of the southwestern hair transfer. It was mostly on Tuesday anyway. I am man. I am yak. I am half-yak. Hear me roar. RARRRR!

THIS IS A MAGAZINE ABOUT feet. READ IT.

I HATE YOU, MYSTERY GUY! YOU ARE A LAME SUPERHERO. YOU ARE SUPER-LAME!

This is the cartoon that plays in my head whenever I get a really high fever. There is a bowling ball and someone pulls a hair out of their head and it all crashes loud. Something is evil about that bowling alley.

WE are just here for the annoyance factor. SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!

"Is that my lung again?"

"Certainly."

"Is it yours?"

"Quite frequently."

"Wow."

"Kids, this is a library, if you want to talk, maybe you should go the vulgar void."