All righty, sows and bucks, time for a trip. See, I was sitting here watching the walls bubble out at me with gilded faces of gold and flesh while listening to some poppy tune racing through the computer speakers like a dude with a rhino horn shoved deep into his spine and I was thinking about the good old days when the midgets and lepers hung around the Good Humor man feeling Happy and I started telling myself, "Walter, you've got to do something about this pre-di-ca-ment that you are in, sir". I nodded to myself, but then I thought, "Wait a minute... my name isn't Walter." After that I spent about an hour trying to remember what the hell my name WAS, but all I drew up was a picture of a guy urinating out of his belly button onto a gigantic shrew. I told the guy to stop, 'cuz the poor shrew certainly didn't want to get any navel lint on her... but she got mad for being so precocious. She lectured me for a while until I asked "What does precocious mean?" and the really strange thing was that she didn't know and didn't really care and just started rubbing her left kneecap and moaning orgasmically. I realized that I was in a pretty bad situation here, seeing as how the guy turned to me with the urine still spraying out of his belly button, but then he wasn't there no more, he was behind me for some reason and was screaming that the End of the Sputverian Olympics was coming to an end. I really didn't care much about the Sputverian Olympics and even told this guy that, but then I realized that there wasn't any more urine coming out of his belly button, and hey, this wasn't the same guy, so I might as well listen, seeing as he wasn't peeing on the shrew anymore. Speaking of the shrew, by now she was still rubbing her knee but had grown a gigantic eyeball on her back that was looking at me with pulsating veins and bad morning breath and telling me that I'll die from Twinkie overdose. Well, frankly, that scared the lving shit out of me, so I swore off Twinkies on the spot, and went down the AM-PM to yell at the guy down there, but that's another story altogether, and why not? Let's hear it. I marched right into that AM-PM and I shouted, "Bring all your Twinkies up here NOW, godflarbit!!!" They just kind of ignored me until I said that the Twinkies were molesting the Ding-Dongs (who are very sensitive about their name), and that got them moving in a hurry. They backed up the bulldozer and dumped a pile of condom wrappers at my feet and I said "That's better." I grabbed an acetylene torch and set fire to the whole stack and sat back for a good view as Rome burned beneath my feet and I decided to paint it all, but then Nero came by and kicked me in the shins for stealing his idea. I got pretty pissed at the mother-fucker and told him such, but he just told me to suck his cock. Well, I was too upset for any sort of hardcore activities, so I just grabbed my suitcase and walked away. I hailed a taxi and a biplane pulled up and I said, "That's close enough," something was odd about this biplane, though, it didn't have two sets of wings, but I knew it was a biplane, not just because it went out with both guy and girl planes but because it's glasses had two different types of lenses. Anyway, we took off, and when we got several thousand feet in the air I realized three things: First, there wasn't any pilot... Second, I still didn't know what my name was ... and Third, where was I going? Well, the first two points became null pretty quick as the pilot tapped me on the shoulder from behind me and said, "You're name's not Fred or Joseph or Ronald or Teddy or Bert or Oatmeal or Jesus or Duke or Trampoline, so what does that leave?" and I shouted, "Yes!!! Yes!! Yes!! It's all perfectly clear now!!! I'm headed towards Michigan!!!" and the pilot nodded and sat back in his recliner and said, "Enjoy the show, son," and I grinned in eager anticipation but suddenly the plane stopped and began falling and that was kind of bad so I just left 'cuz I was pissed that the show really sucked. I headed for the nearest Taco Bell because that little chihuahua always cheered me up when I was feeling purple but he wasn't there so I bought some tacos and I left. I was still feeling a bit out of it so I began swinging from one traffic light to the other, but unfortunately I didn't reach and got hit by a semi truck, instead. That kind of hurt, so I kicked the semi truck's ass with a bottle of roach killer spray stuff. The fumes got the truck driver who started singing "Du Hast" in English and he was kind of off key, but considering he was under the influence of the roach killer spray stuff it wasn't too damn bad at all, no siree, so I asked for an encore. At that point, an audience had gathered and they agreed with me, so to top off his first act, the truck driver began sodomizing members of the audience. Everyone thought it was funny as hell until it was their turn, at which point they started screaming, "Darkness falls upon the midnight weary!" for some stupid reason. Well, I didn't want to sound like some trippin' Poe, so I high-tailed it out of there quick as a shrinky-dink. Unfortunately, a wisp of L.A. smog drifted by and I tripped and landed face first into a pie. I didn't really care until I tasted the pie and realized that it was cow pie, and then I rushed into a nearby bathroom to wash my face and hands off, and to give the inside of my mouth a good scrubdown. The tiles broke and I fell into the swirling no-happy darkness and I screamed, "That isn't supposed to happen!" but then I got caught in a big net that felt like marshmallows all stringed together. Then I realized that I really didn't fall, the bathroom had just blown up and tossed me in the air, and I realized that I had gotten tangled up in the power lines above the street, which kind of sucks, because about then the electrical currents began coursing through my body and it hurt like a flying flatulence fatburger but it must've jogged something in my head because about then I remember that my name was, as always...

SPOOFE