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Complements of THE HAUNTED HOUSE -- 415/941/7256

The Writings of the Mad Scribe -- Volume III

[Letters to the Mad Scribe may be sent via China Jones at flbd #63.]

LIKE DETERGENT (inspired by miss virgin herself (virgin in that an elephant hasn't gotten to her.) (yet.) I made it through the dirty dishes Armed with my Brillo pads Never knew how to remove baked beans Until i found these ads Now i say, what a day! This thing is fantastically great 'cause it seems so real Yet it doesn't really feel Like skin peeling away

Like detergent Suds for the very first time Like detergent And it only costs a dime

Well, It saves your pretty hands And grease disappears just like that Who cares if you have to rinse an hour To remove crusty bacon fat The only thing, that worries me Is that the color is a sickening green But as long as it works I don't care if it burps Just so it vomits in the can

Like detergent Palmolive may soften your hands Like detergent But it doesn't consume small insects

blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub blub

So it's ugly; No big whirl I don't care about Ivory girls This thing is much nicer It's also a meat slicer MM MM // SSSSSS And it opens beer cans M M M M // S M M M // SSSSSS Like detergent M M // S 15 percent acid rain M M // SSSSSS Like detergent It can be polite or raise cain

Like detergent Oh yes, Fred goo's like detergent His brain is green because of the mutant moss, of the mutant moss <--truly profound That's a legit cause? incomprehensible

SMOOTH AND CREAMY BUTTER

Chorus:

Creamy butter Tastes great on toast, believe me It's like no other Before you know it you'll hate margarine

Words:

(a slight madness block took place here; be insane and write your own)

OPADEE YOU NEED A... TO SCREAM THE IMPOSSIBLE SCREAM

Opadee exciting lawn mower! To scream the impossible scream Opadeeee This thing eats up To yell the impossible yell Opadee the grass in ten To bust your beautiful larynx Opa seconds flat! Sing for six hours straight Rumma Rumma

(repeat)

Insanity isn't easy to come by these days...the creative urge is gone...oh well, maybe tomorrow... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Yoreksitovsky . . . . . . . .

Halleluiah Garbage tastes good My lamp broke Where's my wallet Halleluiah

A Word from the Holy Agnostic

Do unto others and run.

Thy neighbor will be thy brother to collect from thy will.

And God said, "Let there be light." And the power company said, "Give us six more days."

The Bible does not have a monopoly on wise sayings; it is quoted more than any other source because its copyright has long ago expired.

And God created man in his own image...while He was drunk.

Iconoclasts leave gods to be desired.

What the hell...Heaven just might exist.

Question: If Noah's ark carried two of every living thing, how come he didn't catch pneupoliomeaslesmump feverpox? And now for tender tasty beefy bits... Fortified with 1 non-essential vitamins Vitamin ? -.42177%

Worly Katumzel Losing the creative urge Worly Katumzel I eat with my mouth open My knee is in your dumbbell Reaching below is a sudden oops Worly Katumzel Here's wishing that I was hoping

Beter Polit Losing the creative urge Beter Polit Surgical glove on my knee Season or know it Your pinkie has beneath a beach Beter Polit Sawdust in the sky beneath the sea

Gumshee Cradowack Losing the creative urge Gumshee Cradowack Pants on my head, glove on my ear A pitchfork in your back Besides making waste for comment Scan the desert for signs of air Jerfud Nivone Jerfud Nivone Lyre sounds like liar Turkey Bouillon Perturbed is my nail polish Jerfud Nivione But having it all is undisturbed Losing the creative urge

Someone has nothing below me Someone has nothing above me I have nothing at all Where did all the umbrellas go?

To the Vatican for mincing meat

Puzzle:

Change knick to knock in 27 steps (not 1, 27! no repeating allowed)

Solution:

knick ugexz lllpl Neon Neon Neon kneck ugixz lllll Neon Neon Neon knert usixz fllll onert asipz fnlll ogert asipn fnlcl igert aoipn fnlck igerz loipn ynlck igewz loipl ynock ugewz llipl knock

Questions: Is life worth living? Is life worth dying for? Is life worth living for? Is life worth ten hedgehogs and a dead red whoopee cushion?

GUIDE TO MAD SCRIBEDOM aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee

All MS work created by the Mad Scribe himself and is guaranteed to be 100% original.

All MS work may be reproduced anywhere except on other BBS's. Simply give credit to M/S (only for popularization purposes) on the parchment, magnetic media, or other form of recording material.

HERE IS A LISTING OF THE M/S FILES

MS SUP1 MS CVR AND LIST MS PHILO MS VOCAB MS WD FLWR MS MAP MS THE SPOT MS XMAS MS DESERT MS SERIOUS! MS ELP TORT MS HOLIDAY

--> MAD SCRIBES NEED TO RETURN TO REALITY ONCE IN A WHILE TO <-- --> SATISFY THEIR PHYSICAL NEEDS <-- --> NUTRIENTS, CLOTHING, SHELTER <-- --> AND <-- --> CRAYONS <-- --> (SO I WRITE WITH ELECTRIC CRAYONS) <--

THEY ALSO NEED FELLOW SCRIBES

SEND ALL CURRENCY DONATIONS (ALL PRECIOUS METALS AND STONES ACCEPTED) ORIGINAL CONTRIBUTIONS (M/S WORK) TO WALLY PINCUSHION M/S CRAYON FUND AND SCRIBE SEARCH WHERE WE REACH OUT FOR THE SCRIBES AND ASPHYXIATE THEM WITH DECAPITATED PENCIL SHAVINGS C/O THIS BBS

INSANITY REIGNS SUPREME! bloobie blop bloobie blop bloobie blop?

This genre of short story inspired by Terribly Concise Cultinski (Junipero hates everyone who can write shorter essays than he) (Junipero has decided to scratch the above statement since that includes everyone except for maybe Charles Darwin) The Spot (an exercise in creative rambling) Once, on the shirt of a little boy, lived a spot. Now this spot, whose name was Marvin Melvin Mervin Mulvin the Merciless Masher, had no head or body. But everyone knows that spots have no organs to speak of or to hear of or to write home about. Of course, writing often also produces spots, especially when the pen cartridge begins to leak. Leaky pen cartridges usually can be attributed to the manufacturer. But let us not be so hasty to place the blame on the poor white-haired old man who can barely pay his three illegal alien employees the minimum wage. Of course, we cannot play favorites since the old man forces each of his illiterate employees with a big two-finger thick imitation vinyl leather-lookalike whip made in Hong Kong to buy sixty- thousand pens each so that he can break even and buy his fat senile old wife with varicose veins, painted lips, and a moth- eaten old fox fur around her bulging neck a triple scoop of exploding half-ripe strawberry fudge caviar ice cream with kiwi fruit flavored baby raccoon eyes and a slice of banana shipped by first class air from the small Caribbean island of San Salvador where old man Christopher stopped over to take a leak and trade old cannonball cards with the natives. The old mass of putrid and disgusting blue mucus covered with wrinkles and skin two sizes too large is so uncoordinated that she probably will drop one scoop of that ice cream into the gutter which is only cleaned once a week by a quarter-blind moneylender from Northeastern Luxembourg (the part with the mountain) who poked his eye out while trying to keep his eye on his gold, silver, and various denominations of currency from all seven seas that Sinbad crossed in his famous fictional story that no one knows who wrote except maybe Sinbad who we can't question because he is only a figment of our limitless imagination which is only stopped by the sky because our mind isn't traveling at a velocity fast enough to escape the gravitation influence of the earth. Notice how I am violating every single rule of English class. And so the scoop of ice cream, gradually soaking into the ground and evaporating into the troposphere, disappears from sight, only to reconstruct itself on some poor little brat's shirt who simply been minding his own business and harbors no grudges against anyone except for his best friends Harvey Goldstein and Ogilvie Ali who threw his only bike down a well which forced our young jerk in question, Master Bzktchkfd, to clamber down into the well and drown since he never learned how to swim from human beings, preferring instead to watch young Porky Pig flail around helplessly in the water and then raise three fingers in time to be caught by a superhero swooping overhead at a speed exceeding any known to man in those prehistoric (pre-Charlton Heston) days. Since our young antihero just happens to fall into the waste water outlet of a local detergent company, the spot is eliminated forever and I bid you adieu to go and write your own neat little inspired masterpieces to win cases of Turtle Wax and Rice-a-Roni.

CEILING FIXTURES Ceiling fixtures are so fine My friends think they're simply divine There's one small question, that's all: Why don't they put them on the wall?

Ceiling fixtures shining bright If only my shoelace worked at night Ceiling fixtures there and here No one's got them in the ear

Old age creeping up behind the past But ceiling fixtures will always last Any electrical problem is not so true If purple eggs are sometimes blue

Ceiling fixtures dangling low My friends always like to sew Ceiling fixtures under the door Someone told me my hat is poor

TROMBONE IN THE REAR Do the trombone in the rear One drumstick for each ear Violins strapped onto each leg And a tuba covering all of my head

NO LOST UMBRELLAS TODAY No lost umbrellas I want to see no lost umbrellas If you and me are to be happy No lost umbrellas today

HIPPO HIPPO Hippo hippo have a poo Having one daily is good for you Otherwise the manure will mass up inside And one day you will go POP! And you will spray manure and your intestines outside All over your hippo friends Who will not like you anymore Although you would be dead And will not deliver your eulogy Or come to your funeral Or lower your casket into the grave Then the pieces of your body Would lie all around rotting Making a terrible smell And revolting the janitor So please hippo take your poo Good for me and good for you And while I'm here reminding you I might as well have one too AGNOSTIC CITY (This poem is pretty heavy, so please skip it if you are easily offended. None of the content reflects my own personal opinion (I used the words because they rhyme)) Once I was a studious disciple Studying every day by candlelight Then my priest had six affairs When the pope came he started a fight

Even if the Church had several gods I wouldn't worship the whole lot Agnostic city, can't you see If God exists, he sure is an S.O.B.

We could condemn until the dawn Burning crosses on the lawn Agnostic city, can't you see People are sick of the Trinity

Every time I go over there Reverend Priest gives me a hard time I can't remember the words to the prayer Or even drink that cheap red wine

Fall asleep during Sunday school In the Bible everyone's a fool Agnostic city, I never pray That I'll become a C.P.A.

Remember the page Cain was on Sing those stupid little songs Agnostic city, churches are old Now they're even using fake gold

(Continue as desired)

GOO Goo Goo goo goo Goo, goo goo, goo goo, goo Ga Ga ga, ga Ga ga ga, ga, ga ga, ga Gee Gee, gee Gee gee gee gee, gee, gee

STICKS ON HIS BALD HEAD I play his pink bald head With two sticks of lead Before I finish every piece He has lost several teeth Then again I could use his feet But they just don't have enough meat

***And that's it for.....The Writings of the Mad Scribe Volume III***

Watch the Haunted House (415/941-7256) for new material as soon as it is released!