About the time I was annoying math teachers with Apple ]['s, I was also realising my dreams as a burgeoning writer. I showed some of my literary spewings-forth to some of my friends, who showed it to some of their lesser-known friends, who showed it to some even more obscure folks; this generated what you are about to read. Or not. The Slosh is split into sections, nominally entitled 'chapters'. They include 1, 2, 3, 17, 37 (VGA Graphics Version), size nine, and a whole pile of extruded aluminum slats. ears, I wonder what it all means.

Hey there beautiful people, do you ever wonder if people are just naturally scattered, or just never learned to write? Hmm, maybe I'm taking this English major thing too seriously! May the orcs bewitch you. TP

Oh how I like to spelunk in the 1-2-3, deftly, I avoid the trees. I like it best undermound, safe from the threat of falling pez, and the putrid, ripping sound. I keep my nits about me, in case I stumble upon the great wooly Gnu, who prefers to lure the unwitting into games Uno, whilst sipping his cesearean tea. One must take care, venturing into the dip forest...

The toad and the hermit sat on the beach. The latter said to the former, "farmer, have you a ladder?" A fish nearby heard the scuffle and deposited the maritime board of directors into the vomit. "Please don't swim too much. The vomit cannot sleep well." The vomit slept. And sleep it did, as it slipped on itself and ate the blue hemorrage without mustard.

The purple people's chins may curl if cheese that's curdled is swallowed hole, though weaving bobbits grate the nerves, it is rightly so to sate her thirst. For tempers flare, whilst the boss doth glare, and the day keeps slipping away...

The deep fried pez chuffs are capable, (under stripped laboratory conditions) of inciting high speed rhythmic gyrations, congruent with the yodeling of the boy scout oath, particularly among younger, impressionable sluts of the 1-2-3 toed variety. They (pez chuffs) are highly variable, volatile, and should not be administered in conjunction with pheromones, hormones, or strawberry quik...

Yes, well, I met a goat on the net yesterday, unfortunately, it had Tourettes AND shin splints, poor goat. He said that the noblest aim in life, which one should strive for, was to be Hasidic, and acidic...

Ahh, but far rarer still is the 1-2-3 toed slut. The mere rumor of it's appearance makes the Lotus butterfly couch potatoe look as common as a field mouse, (or Print Artist user). It's beauty is such that it shames even the most sublime of sights, (a 6-pack of Zima, and a bucket of rotisserie gold). As the egghead herself said, "Nothing Compares"

Which leads inevitably to the question, "What should one do" if one is of the unestimable good fortune to stumble across a 1-2-3 toed slut. First and foremost, one should give thanks. A sacrifice of some sort should be sufficient, spill a Zima, or offer up a sno-ball. Once this has been done, then only the most ostentatious display of conspicuous consumption could possibly attract a 1-2-3 toed slut. But if this fails, cry not. For the sight alone is a far greater thing...

The Lotus butterfly couch potato is a rare beast. More unusual than the Lesser Spotted Ooja of Upper Sandusky (Ohio), more beautiful than the Olden Golden Beer Drinking Goat of Mishagi Float (Florida), and less often seen than the Manic Exploding Harvest Fish of the Eastern Hills of Nebraska.

The Leading Edge Mouse is another example of what a fine thing nature is, and why the three finger salute is inappropriate for small children. We touch all of these smoking trees with the fork. Three times I have ventured forth into the sound blaster environment variable, and each time I was ejected for not bringing the DAT.

Batch files are most often eaten by these little boogers; especially their brake-dancing behaviors cause us no end of upset over these very issues. Jesus himself is often seen skiing with Elvis, five times in the month of November alone. Though of course he wasn't alone - he was with Elvis.

In the past has been know to keep company with the Dreaded Stranger On An Ostrich, although neither of them have a break-dance move to boast about at the moment and one can't help but wonder that maybe if Jesus Christ had gotten laid a bit more often Planet Earth wouldn't be so uptight at times.

Even so, fun has never proven to be hard to find.

Yes. The excited State of Nebraska!

• Hayrides!
  
• Sing-a-longs!
  
• Moonshine!
  
• More hayrides!
  

Windows was in excited electron state. Eh?

Ooo! A new way to run Windows! 386 Excited Mode!

Symtower file wouldn't excite properly - he kept getting an error that said

cannot write the file named Symtower.excite

The sea was tumultuous
The clouds were low and gray
The night was only sometimes
the place to be afraid

The girl she was tempestuous
With hair as dark as a moonless night
The ship was rocked to east and west
Til the hint of dawn's first light

Eeble neeble fleeble pi
Popping foohahs on my thigh
Eastern timezone wipes my butt
Oh I hate the knight.

And Jerry is a hamster with whipped cream.

Hildegard Flimmelstick is dead?
Barry Williams has not been fed.
The fish without scales
Cannot defend against scabs.

Jerry still has too many hamsters with whipped cream.

Wildebeests are growing on my head
Snowmoths are sleeping in my bed
The road less walked on
Has less cigarettes on the side

Jerry has too many hamsters with whipped cream.

I will be out of the office Friday. If you need assistance, please give [xpoppy] a call. I will be on a remote island south west of Venezuela, studying the anthropological traits of the natives and will only be reachable by the rhythmic patterns of the Tiangau drum.

See you on Monday.

If you could, you'd never leave the house