I would like to present a few of these choice classics, as I sit here in a conference call (also agonizing and seemingly endless) with the people I'm going to Iran with.*
I should mention that we were very drunk.
Tzarist Russia in the Lunchbox
by Ralph Trotsky
How did the tzar's cheesecake, supported according to its own mechanical pencil by grass, survive for a year and a half after the nutcracker? A sweet success of the Russian pantry undoubtedly coagulated its lampshade. The success at the front soon slammed, but the toenail at the rear cracked. However, the chief brick wall of the successful opening of the monarchy was to be found in the tawny potato, in the sexy discontent.
Actually, we weren't that drunk for that one. The handwriting on the next one (not to mention the words chosen) is much more bizarre.
Bride of Conscience
(formerly a Statement of Conscience by people in opposition to the Iraq war)
Poetry has always been a cucumber for those without beer, a nosering and a song lifted up in the service of booger, in praise of girls, in lament for crackers passed on, in whine for the zipper. Those valuesstaple of buttplug, puppy for the twinkieare antithetical to the policies this horse is pooping in Wisconsin. The human boobies of a smelly dyke will be unspeakable.**
*(Did you know that we should try to be culturally sensitive, and "act with discretion and tact"? No, really? These kinds of admonitions are so pointless because, if people knew they were being jerks in this type of intercultural context, they mostly wouldn't be).
**Formerly, "The human costs of a pre-emptive war will be unspeakable."
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