'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
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  ##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #417 !!
  #########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS!  !!
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  ##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "That Silly Dog"                         !!
  ##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> Trilobyte                          !!
 ..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 1/10/99                                  !!
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        i used to be rastafarian, but then i changed my ways.  i took
 off the multicolored hat of my homeland, i dyed my skin a color akin
 to peachish white, and moved away from reggae and ska musics.  i grew
 to like other things in life, there are so many other things besides
 the daily ritual of smoking ganja and loving allah.  there's also
 growing pot, making love to the wimmen, buying hashish... i moved to
 san francisco, land of the rice things and streetcars, and forded
 myself a stream across the bloody rivers of the bastioned american
 workforce.  but all of a sudden, my black facial hair started to grow
 uncontrollably.  one second i'd shave, and a few minutes later i'd have
 a full dreaded beard.  it gave away my identity and all the
 leather-wearing alligator gay homosexual men would throw me out of the
 streetcars and out into the roads of the streets.

        i was down and dejected and depressed and demoralized and
 detoxed.  so i went to find my reefer.  i went into a drug store but
 they only had aspirin and these chia pet things, and some old women
 selling make-up, which i don't wear, because it doesn't complement my
 complexion.  well, no more than the darned flourescent lights do.  i
 went outside and found a dog, which i picked up and put in my coat.
 "what is a former rastafarian without a dog?" i ask, but nobody answers.
 nobody is listening.  it is as if i am playing really bad music in a
 crowded room.  nobody listens to it but nobody tells me to shut up
 because they're afraid someone else is listening and the wouldn't want
 to make a really bad impression.  you know.

        my eyes became bloodhsot for no reason.  i hadn't been smoking
 up.  i looked around at all the storefronts, there were non that
 interested me.  i scurried over to the italian restaurant to smoke me
 some basil.  it smelled like basil, it tasted like basil, it probably
 was basil, but doggonit, if that stuff wasn't marijuana!  i was more
 happy at that moment than during the whole rest of my time in san
 francisco.  it was time to find love.  girls aren't just plastered to
 walls of buildings, one has to subvert one's self past the typical
 methods of lubrication in order to find unfettered harlots.

        i found one.  inside the dog.

        "come out, fair maiden, i will make you whole," i spoke to the
 rear of the dog.  i could see her in there.

        she breathed a great sigh and came out of the dog.  the dog
 split open because she was much, much bigger than he.  in fact, her
 breast alone was the size of a medium-sized schnauzer, yum!  i took her
 to the drug store to get her some clothing and to clean the dog parts
 off of her.  i picked up one of the old women working there and wiped
 off my woman with it.  it wasn't happy about being used as a brush, but
 then again, i wouldn't be either.  i stepped on it and broke it apart
 and threw it at things and knocked them over and knocked up my woman and
 now all that was left was to find allah.

        oh, wait, damnit, allah was the dog.  isn't that quite a
 catch-22.  damn.

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 !! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!    #417, WRITTEN BY: TRILOBYTE - 1/10/99 !!