Who could have guessed that the bungie cord could stretch so much?
Governor Quinn returned home in a pizza box.
They said that no one would attempt to drink Ale, but someone did, and no there’s not a trace of him left.
Governor Quinn was fed up with pseudo-celebrities tarnishing the proud title of “governor.” It was bad enough with Jesse and his feather boa, but Arnold? Conan the Terminator as governor? The very idea made Governor Quinn’s blood boil and the veins in his forehead bulge.
But what could he do about it? He pondered and mulled and even ratiocinated, until at last it hit him:
The cement truck that barrelled through the red light as Governor Quinn, lost in thought, stepped into the street without looking both ways.
As Governor Quinn’s secratary in charge of executions, EddyTeddyFreddy was in charge of putting citizens to death. Since the successful campaign by SanguineSpider to ban alcohol, it was her duty to hunt down and exterminate Ale. All of the bars and liquor stores had been shut, of course by the persistent and oddly provocative efforts of the “Liquor Tzar” Blonde. She had convinced virtually every male owner of a bar, liquor store, or private club to hand over their keys and follow her somewhere. Noon knew where, but we didn’t ask too many questions either. Even pervert who was usually most interested in such methods did not understand Blonde’s.
Of course, EddyTeddyFreddy had enlisted Blonde’s help in tracking down Ale. But it was to no avail. He was apperently imune to her “charms”. Governor Quinn was getting most impatient. He was eager to completely enforce this new law to appease SanguineSpider and claim the “special reward” she had promised him if he could do it in a years time. He applied quite a bit of pressure to EddyTeddyFreddy. Reminding her that he had “made” her and he could “ruin” her.
In desperation, EddyTeddyFreddy finally enlisted the help of her vast army of cats. They had successfully scoured (with their little pink tounges even) the entire town. They were closing in, and Ale was getting equally desperate.
EddyTeddyFreddy was reporting all of this in a meeting were all concerned were listening. The grand conclusion where Ale was brought into the Governor Quinn’s office in chains was only ruined by the giant jelly filled comet which struck the office at that moment. Luckily pervert (Governor Quinn’s office reporter) was able to record the whole thing before they all were consumed in a sticky, fruity, but wonderfully earthy death.
What’s the difference between a pervert and a gigantic Spongebob Squarepants balloon in the Macy’s parade?
If you prick them, **pervert will bleed and SS will fart, both with a loud squealing sound.
Sticking a large butcher knife in both them will make the eruption more impressive. But you can’t patch the holes and pump the blood back into pervert. Spongebob Squarepants wins this encounter.
EddyTeddyFreddy lost the battle with the bold and sustained multiple fatal injuries. She died young and pretty though! Her viewing will be held next Wednesday at 12:00 pm, cameras will not be permitted.
Heh. Actually, they thought they could save me at the hospital, but when I went into cardiac arrest they screwed up calling the code on me. The crash cart really was. 
EddyTeddyFreddy and SanguineSpider decided to go shopping for bucks to mount in their front lawn. Um… that they would erect…
Let’s start over, shall we? Animated pre-lit reindeer, at Walmart, no less. EddyTeddyFreddy and SanguineSpider managed to survive Walmart Hell and purchased two animated pre-lit bucks (to mount in their front lawns this fine holiday season). It was a close call when the evil Walmart demon with glowing red eyes threw himself on the back of their car as they drove off - some clever zig-zagging by ETF threw him off the car in short order.
Arriving at ETF’s house, she and SSpider eagerly opened their boxes. “Hmm, I see INSTRUCTIONS and TOOLS…what now?” said EddyTeddyFreddy. “Does this come in several pieces??” SanguineSpider wailed.
They managed to put together the reindeer in a haphazard manner - but while attempting to plug it in, they mixed up the “male” and “female” plugs, with quite gruesome results.
Merry X-mas!
Blonde, next time you visit England remember that there they drive on the left… oh, never mind, there´s no “next time” for you.
By the way, you left a good impression over there, specially on that double-decker.
Ale became pale, very pale, when the authorities confronted him with the incriminating memo. He stoutly defended his honesty, but in the bock of his mind he knew he couldn’t beer much more. He was barley able to function, his thoughts hopping in all directions. He wouldn’t wine, oh, no – but there was no way he could scotch the rumors any longer. With a rye smile, he decided, “I’m going tequila loser – myself!” And so he drowned his sorrows and ended it with a shot.
Awww… as much as I like being killed in such imaginative ways, I´d like to point that my name doesn´t have anything to do with alcoholic beverages; in fact last time alcohol touched my tender lips was the 28th of November of 1998 in Santiago de Chile, Chile; I sipped about 2 cubiv centimeters of white wine.
By the way, EddyTeddyFreddy, if I were you I´d be very careful to avoid steamrollers this week, I´ve seen the future and seems that you´ll be losing a handfull of sizes.
And an amazing amount of fluid as well
Such a large amount in fact that several people in close attendance of the experiment suffered extensive exposure. The exposure became prolonged as they each found out that the odious fluid was almost impossible to clean off.
EddyTeddyFreddy was shunned by her cats. They could not stand the smell. She ended her days as a homeless cat-lady wannabe.
Governor Quinn Was imediately impeached by the newly elected “olfactory tsar”. This office was created when the smell travelled across enough state line to support a constitutional ammendment to stop it. the officer was empowered to kill on smell any person exposing others to the smell (however brief) of pervert’s odor.
Blonde Was quite close indeed to the (shall we say) point of penetration and so suffered the most agreegious exposure. She melted immediately. Witnesses later claimed she said plaintively <What a world! What a world!>
SanguineSpider Was able to scuttle high enough up the wall of the room that she escaped exposure all together. However, as the only remaining survivor whom people could stand to be within 10 yards of, she was blamed for the whole mess and sent directly to death row on authority of the olfactory tsar.
Ale Was relieved to discover that he would never be placed in any other persons mouth. Ever. Although he was now shunned, he was never very popular anyway, so it was not much of a burden on him. He spent the rest of his days trying to reconnect to the body of pervert, his one true love.
I’m not at all sure why I went there at the end. This stream of consciousness thing can be dangerous.
pervert thought to himself, “This stream of consciousness thing can be dangerous.” How right he was! Especially when the stream, swollen to a raging torrent by the reading of this item, drowned him iun a sea of images and thoughts so… so… well, perverted that he never found his way back to reality again. He was discovered, slumped over his computer and partially decomposed, by the police who broke down his door on complaints of foul odors made by his neighbors.
ETF gets run over by one of those things that roll out the ice at hockey games.
Death by Zamboni? Ah, BellaDellaItalia, how appropriate, coming from you. 
You, my dear, meet your untimely end when you find yourself locked in an Italian pastry shop over a three-day weekend, with rack upon rack of ricotta pies and cannolis before you, and your willpower fails to hold you back. But what a sweet way to go!
Mmmm, cannoli. You had to say that word. Now I have to stop at the bakery on my way home from work and buy one. Or two. Or six. Go ahead and sterotype me, but I loooove those things.
So, ETF, where exactly is Exurbia?
Turns out it’s in Iraq. And you’re a Kurd. On the bright side, the toxic gas does wonders for that wet sheep smell.
I know it´s not his turn… but I couldn´t resist
Governonr Quinn peeked nervously through the curtains, a large angry mob of people bearing torches, pitch-forks and RPGs was pressing against the palace entrance door.
It was not the fact that Governonr Quinn decided to spent two thirds of the city yearly budget on a 60 meter high statue of himself, neither that he brought down the Children´s Hospital because it was on the right place were he fancied to have his dign effigy stand; the mob was not screaming the end of his goverment because he sent the hospitalized child to work in the mines to extract the coal that was needed to melt all the church bells, candle holders and doorknobs of the city to obtain the brass for the magnanimous monument. What really freaked out the city was the exctruciatingly complicated and enormous clock mechanism within the statue that, at the stroke of each hour set giant gears into motion that raised the arm of the brass impersonation of Governor Quinn and gave the whole city the finger.
After hanging, poisoning, shooting, impalling and burning him, his ashes were put inside small vials in commemorative “We roasted the bastard!” pins that were distributed among the participants of the gathering.
Ale finished the last line of his Governor Quinn demise. There! He’d created a masterly death!
Smiling in satisfaction, he pushed his chair away from the keyboard, got up, and turned to go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
That was when he saw the row of blowpipes trained upon him, each one being held by a small, naked, warpaint-bedecked child. Behind them stood a shadowy figure, also naked and daubed with paint, who raised an arm and, in utter silence, pointed at Ale
fwoopfwoopfwoopfwoopfwoopfwoop… THUD
Still in silence, the line of naked children turned and followed their leader out the door, out of the building, and into the waiting schoolbus, where they all resumed their normal apparel as their teacher said, “And now that we’ve studied that primitive ritual, let us turn in our books to chapter 3: The Conquistadors Arrive.”
heh, that was a good one EddyTeddyFreddy
clap clap clap
clap isn’t a word you should use while visiting the best Little Whorehouse in Texas, Ale…
No! Not the one who is the spitting image of Anna Nicole! Don’t do it!
:::averts eyes:::
>>squash<<
For all the girls he’s loved before…