-|- the hogs of entropy -|- -|- "text files to read with soup." -|- _ /' /' `\ /' /' ) moo. oink. /'__ /' /' ____ issue /' ) /' /' /' ) -104- /' /' /' /' /(___,/' /' /(__ (_____,/' (________ >> "SCREW" << by -> trilobyte ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- excited by the possibilities, happy young rob was known as bob by his friends and fag by his enemies. little did they know, he had tabs on everyone, and when they weren't looking, he defecated into his hand and wiped it on their house. he wasn't really gay, you see. rather, he was bisexual -- and ran a booth at the flea market where he sold blankets and bolts and things that people didn't want to buy. until he bought the door, then they got mad and yelled at him fag and then he ran out of it and went to get more. they said there is none, man, shit and he looked and looked and looked very ugly at the time, confusing the reader and he liked to swim. bob, his name, ate fish at night on certain occasions when his grandmother came over the hill to his cabin in the woods. it was adjacent to the garage of his cabin, which came in handy when people brought automobiles to his cabin. bob's wooden cabin was stately and the large breasted women in the suburb where his cabin lived degraded bob and his children for being fag even though really he lived in the woods and had the upper hand on them all. and he didn't even have any children, so he just whooped their asses in parcheesi and gin rummy and other card games. the number five played a large part in his worldly conquests, causing him to eat more fish than his grandmother could assemble in her five hour workshift at the store. she was getting old hat, blue, please, in the box. no, the other one. on the top shelf. thanks. christmas time came and the cabin was full of tea, warm to the touch and tasty to the tongue. spelling was not bob's forte, as his daughter could tell you, if he had one, which he doesn't, so changing case won't help you now. fart. or don't, for as the calling comes, we all shall live in the world of our lord his god and the goat with the ghost in the box in the head on the table in the place they like to call heaven or hell or one of the afterlife places. or so felt bob, he thought, when he was alone in his cabin with his grandmother and sons. he had three sons until he realized he had none and then he had no sons anymore. but. bob's gate kept people in and out as he pleased to have them. if he was not pleased to have them, he took the utmost care to make sure that the gate was closed so that the person could not come in. because unenjoyable circumstances were not things that bob enjoyed putting up with, not with lots of hair on his head that needed to be cut badly. bad haircuts were not something that bob liked, since he was gay, and had to keep his hair looking nice so that he could convince people that he wasn't gay, even though he isn't. but he ain't. and so am i, said he, after climbing to the top of the tall thing, looking down on creation and he really really liked to sing that song. thinking of the old baseball card shop in the ghetto made him realize his wealth and power in modern society, and his calling to baptize all young chastized women into the church of the holy harpoon that killed dozens of whales in the days of whale-harpooning. must be worshipped, me, now, thanks, thought bob, or tom, as his senile uncle sometimes called him but yes. i do agree sometimes, depending on the time of day and week i am. not feeling good, said she, eating crescent rolls on ends of wheat and rye toast butter jelly food. broad road is tread often, but only on the way, the right way, the way to the gate to heaven. lots of flashing lights, people standing on words that can't describe the way i'm hooked on a feelin'. i yelled and scratched my head vigorously until i got sick of doing so and then i decided to yelp at the dog who was eating my food. "stop eating my food", i quoted from the story. dog left with his scarf, it was cold outside, very cold. bundle up. so. no reason at all is why he built his cabin in the woods to get away from his grandmother who came to visit him and his daughter's fish in time for the spelling bee, but she had to be home in time for her fivehour workshift at the store because she had to pay off her automobile which was sitting in bob's garage. so, really, we all believe bob is a fag. no doubt. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- * (c) HoE publications. HoE #104 -> written by trilobyte -- 6/11/97 *