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Jacking off Jill to a squirrel-fox-dingo

Hypothesized on November 5, 2006.

Gnomelandia is history—on Thursday, Lord and Emperor Haldûrburðgar finally packed up all his gnomely servants and trundled back to his underground cavern, carrying the 56,102,483,314,159,265,358 gnomes with him, snugly packed into his equilateral valise. I celebrated by uncorking my nose and letting gush forth a river of bourbon, then stopping to scribble the letter V all over my eyelashes and solar plexus.

The next day, while listening to Jack Off Jill jack off a squirrel-fox-dingo (my old haberdasher, Thaddeus C.L. Harshbarger, loved those things!), I was interrupted by the sticky-sweet screeching and howling that is Britney Spears torturing a cantaloupe with a pair of pliers. Or is that an antelope… or a jackalope? A jack-off lope?? Wearing a lovely pair of thong sandals, Ms. Spears wouldn’t stop, until I scribbled semper sic tyrannis! on the walls and floor, and then spun around and shouted “orgy porgy!” to the four winds and five elements. Only then did she disappear—with a pop, squeak, and hiss, not unlike the sound of Jack Off Jill jacking off a legion of naïve choirboys.

Oops, I did it again!

Compared to the vicious and tendacious Britney Spears—barefoot or not!—I’ll take those ol’ singing spiders any day.