Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Baby Centre

Isn't science wonderful? Here we have the latest in making babies the easy way from Babymat Co. Just drop a coin right into the slot and turn dial to select DNA, genes, hair colour, temperament, abilities, brain power, etc. and wait 9 months and a brand new baby pops down the chute at the back into the waiting buggy! Wow!


cemenTIMental said...

to an annoying jawbone.


On Saturday last, as Mr. Pitt, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Burke, Mr. Fison and Lord
Overdrive considered what it is to record and play back drawing board grease, there then appeared a procession of new horrors.

I was aware at first just of a moving red wall, like dull, red-hot molten metal. then I discovered, lying at about three feet below the surface of the earth, what they supposed to be the “petrified body” of a human being, of colossal size. The skin had a glistening texture, unpleasant to see, like shiny leather. The downward bend of the tentacle-surrounded mouth, the curious excrescence at the bend, the tentacles, and the large intelligent eyes, gave the creature a grotesque suggestion of a face.

It says much for the modesty and courage of Mr. Fison that he does not seem to be aware that there was any quality of heroism in his action at this juncture. He stretched the rest of the body and having roasted it in an oven together with other matters which it is not expedient to mention, ground it to powder and ashes.

The only evidence that he had even been present in the car was a folded twenty-dollar bill which he had placed conspicuously in the slot of the door handle. Its length is ten feet and three inches.

This was really funny, but I liked his impudence, and, while I had no intention of hiring him, I determined to draw him out, so I said: "The whole inside of this mountain looks to me like rusted iron instead of stone, anyhow.'

He discovered God, bred giraffes. They are dead.

Much love,


wastedpapiers said...

Merci Bertrand for your worms of wisdom. I shall assimilate them at my leisure. Meanwhile consider the lowly spanner who goes through life on his belly and thinks only of nuts and others. Mostly nuts. The twists and turns of fate and the hardening of the concentric veins of wimsy. Think then of the lowly field crank and the tiny pill wiper. Oh. how the rust of many gritty rissoles is blown on the winds of confusion into the chamber of nocturnal experimentation.

Thus, the seepage of worms is raddled into the piffle-iron of our vestibules.