I was just inspired by reading the new John Calvin and Thomas Hobbes book and have decided to leave my career as a courtesan for Harvard men (okay, the secret's out, I'm not really John Blackmer so sue me) and pursue a more promising career by ingesting a constant stream of large amounts of LSD, DMT, etc until my brain enters permanently into the hebephrenic state in which it intermittently finds itself these days, where everything is larger than life, where a thrown softball can KILL YOU and so you have to beat it to death with a baseball bat until all the stuffing comes out, and then run around yelling "IT DIDN'T GET ME!!! HUZZAH!!!" until your voice gives out. A world in which daydreams are in full-color 3-D, in which you have too many mind-numbingly cytorspasmic adventures just walking down the street to ever worry about fresh breath and odorless underarms etc... do you think Spiderman doesn't sweat when he is dangling 300 feet from cold asphalt from a thread tenuously attached to the top of a skyscraper and swinging from limb to limb of the Giant Steel Rainforest of the Gods in hot pursuit of Faceless Man, who shoots heat-seeking rockets from his penis which must be dodged with crackerjack timing and all seven senses focused on the goal, or you're sidewalk pizza and Gwen Stacy is Faceless Man's new forced sex slave? You better believe he sweats, he doesn't have time to make his hair look nice, he's got more important things on the agenda! Yeah, nobody likes John Calvin but his stuffed tiger, but so fucking what, if you live in the Raw Garden of Savage Eden, you don't need people to play Scrabble with and have long conversations about Cheerios and politics.

And it ain't gonna "ruin" my brain. The ancient mystics used to suck down belladonna and thornapples and deadly nightshade for their kicks, some piddling couple sheets of blotter ain't nothing next to that. And sure, they say our world is overrun with Technomancers and Men in Black Glasses and Void Engineers and stuff like that, who will put you in a jar and vivisect you if they catch you doing shit like this, but I don't believe it, I think that's just old wive's tales told by the Church of the Subgenius to keep you sending money. I think sure that stuff might happen to a couple crackpot Sons of Ether so paranoid they can't even sniff straight, but if you don't believe in them, they can't get you I always say. It won't get me, that Slithergadee. Plus you'll notice the only people get put in mental asylums are ugly unhappy people, you don't see gorgeous nubile females with soft tender smiles and a Nental Ife the size of Texas get in them places. Nope. Well maybe Laura, but damned if she didn't have a roarin' good time hiding under tables and shivering with them wide eyes o' hers watching the other inmates throw TV screens at the doctors etc.

Hell, even bad insanity's gotta be better than this Technoboredom bullshit. And due to my past experiences with *** and ***, it is quite clear to me that I am TOTALLY IMMUNE to that shit anyway. I got a grin a MILE LONG, I could seduce Hitler and make him into a friendly guy, etc etc...

YEAH I don't care if it KILLS ME, this is the last day of the world, and I'm goin' NUCLEAR! Fuck them UFO's, they don't exist, I'll be ridin' unicorns in the Valley of Angels afore sunset! Go ahead and give me your worst, I'll STILL have a good time!

Oh, and YGRI, whoever you are, that Janor tape was pretty good you sent me, it was about as weird as when me and my friends get together when you look close... all sound IS R.C. Guy. But a packet of gummi bears in the mail is not weird. My cousin Tiffany might think that's weird, she might get on the phone and tell her friends about the weirdo who sent her gummi bears in the mail, and it's kinda random, but grabbing a bunch of shit from your room and sticking it in the mail just AIN'T THAT WEIRD! I din't see no demons, nobody came into my room and installed a new appliance in my face, come on now. Hell, you got beat at the weird game by Not-Rob, of all people! (who is hereby Jesus of California for 15 minutes, by the way) When I got that letter from Not-Rob, I laughed my head off and rolled on the floor for ages, I'm still laughing now whenever I think about that letter he sent me wishing me a Merry Xistmas and a Happy Solstice, day-umn. But you, you're just one of those Bobbies who sends xeroxed pages from the BOTSHG to another Bobbie who's read the damn thing fifty or sixty times already along with a dried chilie and a dissertation on Kafka, and thinks he's oh so weird. Go home to your momma, boy. If you think that's weird, you ain't just gettin' old, you are SLEEPING or DEAD!

Yeah, so anyone in the Boston area wants to give free or cheap *** to a 21-yr old redhead girl with no job, email me PRONTO! The garden avaits!

-Winslow Leach QPM

P.P.S. I'm changing my name to Winslow Leach. And I know what you're going to say, so don't. this is the internet. Go on treating me like a male and I will go on laughing at you ALL! Hahahahahahahahahahhahaaaaaa!!!

P.S. I bet more of y'all would have come to the Snurg expedition if you knew I was a chick. But fuck y'all of little faith and too many hormones. The passion of lovers is for death. Of the soul. 1