Edited by Swabby Fishbone

I didn’t want to kill him, I just wanted to kill him. I pulled out my knife and shot the blind man, who screamed when he saw me, his unseeing eyes following me wherever I went in the room. As soon as I had stabbed him and put my still smoking gun away, I felt pangs of remorse. It was then that I became a hardened criminal.

I didn’t start out a criminally insane psychopath, it began at age 6 months, when I was living all alone in a chimney in Manhattan. My first battle was with an aphid that I found in the rosebush on my sunporch. it was a feisty little beast, kept throwing bug bombs at me, and after a brutal day and 63/64 of a minute the aphid finally won out. I was in the hospital for a month.

After octuple bypass surgery, weeks of physical therapy and an empty Coke bottle, I was finally well enough to go back to my chimney. I looked around. The kitchen was spotless, the bedroom was spotless, and guess what? The sunporch... spotless. It was horrible! I passed out.

When I came to, I was in the Great American Cheese Fest. I stuffed myself full of cheddar, parmesan, Monterey jack, and, oh joy of joys...


I crammed myself full of that wonderful dairy product. Then I met a wombat. He was calmly wombatting around in his own wombat way. I batted the wombat away from me with a bat I had bought from a bat’s bat friend who works in a batting cage in Manbattan.

After stuffing myself full of Hickory Farms’ best cheeses, I was ready to go. I moved to Las Vegas where I began an illegal peach selling ring. We would smuggle juicy peaches over the border (O.K., a couple of borders) to Libya. The only problem with this arrangement was that after about 1000 miles or so we had to bottle it because it had turned into mango pies.

I sledded up the Rocky Mountains and met a manatee guru living in a bus with no carburetor. He said “OHHMMM”. I left.

After I had hang glided of the Rockies I met a man. I squeezed his neck until his vertebrae popped out his toenails. Than I slammed his head into the ground feet first. I was thirsty after that, so I drank beef drippings. I felt better.

I slept in California because isn’t California as good a place as any to sleep? Then something unusual happened. I woke up in Nevada!! Now this really isn’t that hard to figure out. I slept in Nevada, very close to the border, and rolled across to Nevada! (I hope this is the only sensical thing I say in this story.)

After Nevada I skated across the Pacific Ocean. The trip was fun and I had a most enjoyable time in the Mariana Trench. The deep sea animals were most sociable and I had a nice cup of tea. Then I skied up the Mariana Trench.

After reaching Brunei, I met a log. I made friends with the log and he took me to all of the sights in Brunei which took us all of five minutes. I thanked him, slapped him on the face, and went to Sumatra.

Sumatra was very interesting. I left.

“Ooooooooooooo” said the monkey. “Aaaaaaaa” said I. YYYyyyyyyyy” said the beetle. “Unkunkunkunk” said I. “Ooooooooooooo” said the monkey. “Aaaaaaaa” said I. YYYyyyyyyyy”said the beetle. “Unkunkunkunk” said I.

Next, IRAQ! Land of my dreams! Evil everywhere! I walked around downtown Baghdad until I was able to ring my turban out. (Don’t ask how I got it and I won’t answer.) Whoopee!

There is a bubble in the air. He is flying without a care. I popped the bubble in the air. Now he is no longer there. WOOHOO!


By this time I had traveled around the world 852 and 165012815231.7/165012815231.8 times. I was 25 and 26121621059/51261281260152 1/2 x4/6 x 8 2/6 +1 -30 +81-80-100-50 years old. I was happy with my 872 multiple personalities, some of which had split personalities of their own!

You know, by now you must be pretty bored. Too bad! I ain’t stoppin’ anytime soon. Ah, I forgot to explain to you the valuable “is pizza get a respect thank charge” properties of elastic banding.

There is a word called wonder. A very nice word.

Wonmouthhangingopender. (Mouth hanging open in wonder)

There is a pizza in the ground. It was smashed by a thousand pounds. I ate the pizza in the ground. Now my brain is not quite sound.


Would you like to see a drawing?


This is a drawing of a line. A very nice line.

By this time I was sharing my quarters with a beer bellied wallaby. he didn’t talk much, just calmly guzzled beer and ice all day, watching Jay Leno at night. The wallaby was satanic, you know. he was all rigged out with an altar and everything! His name was Wallace, but most people called him Wally. Wally Wallaby. Oh, did I forget to mention that Wally was a cereal killer? He had killed 877 Oreo O’s in the past two weeks. A new wallaby record!

As soon as I had left Guinea, I ate shredded broccoli, shards of glass and Fred. Do you remember the Libyan mango pies? I ate one and ate another. Then I moved to Azerbaijan.

Lots of people said I was overweight, but I didn’t listen. I was only 865 pounds... over 1000 pounds times 26.8= x pi 6 + / 1x0. I had to keep my image up, so I kept eating beef jerky and Slim-Fast. The Slim-Fast narrowed me down to 625 pounds, but as I ate the beef jerky, I came back up to 865 again. Pretty amazing, huh?

After Azerbaijan, where I did nothing, I moved to Paraguay. ah, Paraguay, land of potato burgers and sandwiches. Dry, gritty, just what I need to keep my gizzard goin’ strong. (Oh, if you would be so kind as to get off my foot, I can go on with my story. I’ll go on with the story.)

Where was I, oh yes, Paraguay! In Paraguay, I erupted the whole country into chaos. Many people were coming angrily after me. I faced them, smiling and talking soothingly. They trampled me like syrup rampaging over a wet hot-dog. Pierre ate pork. Anyhow, (I just digressed; that is quite different from digest, as you probably know.) I was deported from Paraguay. How nice of them, however, to send me off amid a 21 gun salute. (I later found out that they were shooting at me, not with me.)

After Paraguay, where I left, I was no longer there. My body was completely void of Paraguay. It was full of PORK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was in Russia. More specifically, in a KGB interrogation station. Everyone in there was laughing as they flogged each other upon their bald heads. I giggled and asked if I could eat veal and gravy. They growled and asked if they could eat cyanide laced with tetrachloride and syrup. I said no. The head one, Mikhail Nicolaivich Romanovski asked why not, why not, why not, why not, why not, why not, why not, why not, why not, why not, why not, why not, why not, why not,(smack) sorry, I got stuck there. I can go on now. Anyway, I left.

My nexxxxxxt trip was to Somalia, where I met Bob. He ate chips all day and all night and all day and all night (and all day too!) Anyway, Bob wasn’t a good friend. I left.

My next stop was in New Zealand. New Zealand. Land of New Zealanders. New Zealanders live in New Zealand. I was in New Zealand and I lived on a diet of Pepsi cans. After shredding my stomach and having a frontal lobotomy, I was ready to leave.

At this moment, this story has the potential to stop. I think I’ll take it-------- later!!!

Well, this is an interesting development; a development that has developed developmentally. I have developed HIVES!!!! A doctor has now (the doctor’s name is Schmekle) named a book after this case... The Strange Case of Dr. Schmekle and Mr. Hives. I don’t find this funny.

Oh boy, Oh boy, Oh boy! This is my favorite time of the whole story!! HOWDY DOODY TIME!!! (Actually, my psychotic rampaging parakeet said that. I had nothing to do with that.)

All righty now. I HAVE BEEN IN A BIN IN A DRIVE-IN IN BERLIN AND I AM COATED AND COVERED IN GRIME!! O.K., let me get to the point. My wife and kids are dead, dead because my parakeet bought a birdie bazooka and blew up my house. You ask why I’m not dead? Well I was in my palace in Baghdad, drinking goat’s milk and eating bean soup. All of a sudden, these police guys came to the door. They said they were from I.C.K. or Investigational Committee of Killing. They wanted to tell me that my wife and kids were dead. I told my broiled lobster to shoot them. He, being in his muddled state, shot me instead.

I survived, probably because of my cast iron plate on my brain, but I had a rear lobotomy, which is because I am writing this story. All of a sudden, I saw a sight I’ve never seen before... FROGGLE-WOGGLES RIDING PICKLE PORK BOTTLES.

I died back in my chimney in Manhattan, ending a quest to the world (and doing it a great service, too!


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This webpage was authored by Andrew Squires and added to the web November 24, 1999.