[NOTE: Spooky may be stealing the noodle for a while again, we're not really sure. It's not really been made clear. The following is a letter which describes something, in some detail, to Spooky. I mean it's a letter to Spooky that describes something, so that you might read it. Because it's in English, and we're assuming that at least some of our readers read that language. So here it is. In some detail.]

Spooky,

Congratulations on landing the Headly account. Man. I was sweating over that Headly account, I thought that was a goner for sure. Old man Headly, I know him, you know? I mean I KNOW that guy, and he's a bear of a guy. He is about the meanest, old man Headly, the meanest guy there is, and getting that account... I mean I can't tell you how much. I don't want to woolwash your socks, now, but I was a little bit worried, here, I don't mind telling you now. I was going to have to cut you off and let you dangle if you hadn't won the Headly account.

But maybe you knew how much was riding on that account. You probably intuited that without the Headly account we'd go right down into the crapper. Or you would, anyway. I'd be just fine, I'm independantly fancy, as always, and so I'd be fine. But old man Headly. Jeesh. What a coup, buddy! What a fucking... I mean. Get yourself a drink and pretend I paid for it! On me, I mean! Go get yourself a drink and say it's on me, and then pay for it yourself but know in your heart that if I was paying for it it would be on me! Because you deserve... no, better yet, you EARNED, even, I mean you fucking WON the contest, I mean, old man Headly.

Can you imagine? Remember the first time he came in and we pitched him the jingle and he just pissed on your shoes? Remember that? And you hauled off like to deck the guy and we just could hardly hold you off? And he just laughed and spit in your coffee and left?

It's been a long hard road getting to this Headly account, as you well know. You've been putting in a lot of extra effort, and don't think I haven't noticed. Don't think you're being overlooked. Don't for a minute think that we don't know just how much that means, that you got the Headly account. When you buy yourself that drink on me, you just drink it down and remember that. In fact, buy two. You can buy two! And you can pretend I paid for both of them. You can pretend... here, use your credit card and pretend it's the company card! Get as many as you like, and get drunk pretending that you've got a gold company card! Won't that be a hoot?

The Headly account. Man, boy. Jeesh. Wow. I'm just astounded. This is... you did it, man. You did it. If I had an office to put you in I'd move you out of that broom closet TOMORROW, first thing. I'd be on the phone right now calling the... in fact, here, I'll pick up this banana on my desk and act like I'm talking to the maintenance guys and having them get your big, corner office all ready.

Here, you can even pretend to listen in as I pretend to say the following into my banana to maintenance:

"Maintenance? Yeah, it's Elwood. Yeah, Mister Elwood, the damned owner of this place. You know that big, corner office with the ten-thousand dollar chair? And the big windows? Well it'd better be ready by tomorrow for Spooky, or you're fired. In fact I'll eliminate the whole maintenance department. Get that thing ready for tomorrow or you don't work here anymore. You got me?"

It would be just like that if we had anything other than a closet for you. I mean of course we do have that big empty window office with the fancy chair in it, but you know how things are. We're still hoping to bring in some talent into this place. But man, you've really earned an office just like that one, if we had one. The money we're going to be bringing in from that old bastard Headly... we're going to... we could probably comfortably double the amount of office space we own if I wasn't going to pocket it all to take that trip to New Zealand that I've been wanting to take, and buy a house down there. While I'm in that summer house, though, I'll be thinking of you, and how you did all this for us by finally whipping that old man Headly into shape. Good work, boy.

Enjoy your drinks!


Sincerishly,
Mister Elwood
The Big Corporation

I smacked myself on the back, in an attempt to hurry myself along the road. "Come on you lazy idle fuck" I hissed, as I thumped myself in the kidneys. I was late, and half asleep. The cars, the buses, and even other people whizzed past me at speeds which caused white blisters to form on the roof of my mouth. I was slow that day, and navigating my way through the atmosphere of the city at rush hour was painful and exhausting. My limbs were as though enclosed in thick rubber tubing which restricted the joints and weighed me down ten-fold.

I got frustrated, I knew there was precious little time left, I kicked myself squarely up the arse on the main street just as I was passing the opened doors to the Gap Kids outlet. I hocked out a shocked cry of pain in response to the kick. Women inside the shop, with pushchairs for hands, looked up from fingering baby grows to see the spectacle framed in beaming daylight between the clearly alarmed doors to the outside world. It must have been like a miniature piece of theatre. The world as a stage, the shop's interior a darkened auditorium. The main doors for stage-wings. A small piece of vaudeville. A bizarre slapstick short. Man kicks own butt.

I gained some pace then. I found an extra supply of will, converted it hasitly into ohms which were spent on shots of kinetic energy. A short rush, a quick buzz, a fix of weak adrenaline to spur me onward. I accelerated down the street and found my speed now matched that of the slower pedestrians. It might have been enough, but I was doubtful even then.

I reached the doorway which signalled the destination I was aiming for, and shot into the pitch black interior without even nodding my appreciation to the concierge. I was scooting on inertia. If I slowed now I would never regain my current velocity. It was blazing sunshine outside, but cool darkness within the lobby. I cruised at full tilt across the polished Parque floor. My eyes had not adjusted to the new lighting conditions. I was blind.
I raced through head sucking darkness, and intercepted a rack of postcards at maximum speed.

My legs made violent love to the rack, which immediately began to shed its postcards in a frenzied and amorous display. My arms embraced a moment of intimacy between man and inanimate object. I made deep animal sounds as the postcard rack took me by surprise, nudging my genitals with a playful prong. My thighs gripped the writhing and intricate body of my play mate in a grappling, lusty fetish assault. We lost our balance in the heat of the moment, in full public view of the strangers in the lobby. By the time we came to lay together on the hard and dusty floor, I had adjusted the aperture of my eyes and taken my pupils down a good few stops. The postcard rack wascompletely fucked.

I stood up, borrowed a squint from a Spaghetti western, and looked around the octagonal ante-chamber with its eight tantalising doors. Selecting the one I wanted, from memory, I made my way through it, slipping slightly on a postcard.

On the other side of the door was the usual custodian with the pre-requisite formality. Examination of my validating documents succesfully converted suspicion into warm helpfulness in the form of an unnecessary declaration that I was late, and had therefore missed the departure. My group had gone on ahead without me.

The last vestiges of energy left my body then, and I slumped once more into the thick broth of fatigue that had coated me all morning.

"All is not lost though" I was told, and this was followed by a temple tapping manouvre from the custodian which was universally acknowledged short-hand semaphore meaning " Use a little lateral thinking".

I thought laterally. It was easy really. "How Long?" I urged of the custodian, "three minutes ago" came his reply. I knew what I had to do. I stepped without delay into the tiny departure lounge and inserted myself into the last open capsule. I pressed buttons and checked displays simultaeneously. I hastily constructed mental calculations out of the flimsiest of vapours, and with a push of a button marked DO NOT PUSH, I shot backwards by exactly five minutes.

Bursting from the capsule, I ran for the EXIT sign and made my way around the block to the main street out front. Peering through the crowds, I caught sight of a lumbering oaf in ill-fitting clothes moving at a rate which suggested vegetable growth. I pushed my way urgently through the crowd and quickly found myself catching up. Once there, I smacked myself on the back, in an attempt to hurry myself along the road. "Come on you lazy idle fuck" I hissed, as I thumped myself in the kidneys. I was late, and half asleep. The cars, the buses, and even other people whizzed past me at speeds which caused white blisters to form on the roof of my mouth. I was slow that day, and navigating my way through the atmosphere of the city at rush hour was painful and exhausting. My limbs were as though enclosed in thick rubber tubing which restricted the joints and weighed me down ten-fold.

===
Message from Tony Blair, Prime Minister:
===

Fellow citizens of the Democratic Western Alliance,

As you will already have seen on national television, in newspapers and on radio broadcasts; the war in Iraq is already effectively over, and the brutal regime that has dominated the region for over thirty years is finally in ruin.

This has not been a popular conflict, and I more than anyone am aware of that. But as we watch the live reportage and see the images coming in to us from the very heart of cities such as Bagdad, Tikrik and others, it should now be plainly obvious to all but the most militant liberals amongst us why we had to take the course of action that we did in Iraq.

Since the regime has crumbled, the Iraqi people, so long oppressed and brutalised, have taken to the streets to reclaim what is rightfully theirs. I myself have watched footage, and have marvelled at the energy and the determination of these people as they emerge from thirty years of torture and oppression into the first light of freedom and democracy.

I have seen men entering a former Iraqi hotel complex and emerging moments later with the bottom half of a ceramic leopard, an ashtray and a dimming light switch. Another film shows a young Iraqi teenager with his elderly grandfather climbing out of some rubble and triumphantly carrying a window shade, singing victory songs and brandishing the top of a hat stand. Both are laughing and waving for the first time in literally thirty years or more.

I have seen a whole family, regretably made homeless by the Iraqi bombs of mass destruction, working together to load a whitewashed tractor tyre into their rusty pick-up truck, then seconds later entering the lobby of a former Iraqi car rental outlet to claim a large white plastic reception desk vase with its two remaining tulips. This sort of thing is all the evidence we need to satisfy ourselves that we are giving something back to the people of Iraq.

I have heard accounts of a young iraqi girl in the South, no more than six years old, rendered an orphan, wandering the streets of her village in rags for literally days. A young innocent victim of the iraqi war machine, crying for her brutally murdered parents, whose very blood had soaked the young child's dress. Alone, terrified, hungry, and depserate for shelter, this young innocent girl was left with nothing, not even hope. That was yesterday, before word had reached her village that Saddam's brutal regime had been overturned. Today that very same girl has her own bubblejet printer.

I have seen a man in a Jelaba rubbing his genitals up a public mural of Saddam Hussein in Basra. He had a dartboard in one hand and what looked to be a potato masher in the other. This was not possible before yesterday's liberation. Before this, the man would have lived in a small and basic hut, and would not have been allowed a dart board and potato masher. Now, he has a dartboard and a potato masher, and you can clearly see how delighted he is by this. In time he will find a new hut to dwell in, and once settled, he can play with his dartboard, and mash some potatoes, and rub his genitals up a mural of his own.

A young boy in hospital nearby recently had his arms blown off by Iraqi bombs of mass destruction, but thanks to the Alliance and its fast, effective and deadly accurate campaign, that young boy's father now has a wheel barrow full of buckled chair legs.

What we have acheived therefore is nothing short of giving back some stuff to the people of iraq. Shoe polishing machines. Cushions. The foot-rest off a sunlounger. A wonky car door, the list is almost endless. But more than all of this, we have sent a message to the world, a message that can be summed up as I quote Captain Bush speaking earlier today:

"War is not always pleasant, but it is sometimes necessary, and afterwards you can get loads of stuff for free if you're quick on your toes".

Thank you for your continuing, unwavering support over the last weeks and months leading up to this unmissable discount mayhem.

Tony Blair
Prime Minister

World events make these times difficult for all of us. I know that at Oglethorpe we have a dual responsibility to be prepared for the most difficult situations while at the same time avoiding unnecessary alarm or anxiety among the members of the community. Our efforts are directed toward ensuring that students feel comfortable going about their normal lives and can focus their attention on their education. I appreciate the confidence you place in us when you send us your sons and daughters. I promise we will protect them as I would my own.

Sincerely,

Larry D. Large
President

i am the g-d pantry head
i stuck my head in the musty pantry
i am the freakin' pantry head
just like you, just like you

i am the awful patio
up on stilts for a freakshow
i've got concrete for a brain
just like you, just like you

he's just the dumbass bumblebee
stinging flowers with his butt
he looks like he can't fly
just like me, just like me

he is the banal pantry face
his whole face is your whole pantry
he is the uncool pantry face
and he looks like chicken

THE 8 IS SUPPOSED TO BE BIGGER BUT I AM RETARDED. I CAN'T MAKE THE FONT TAGS WORK HERE. SO NOW IT'S JUST A GODDAMNED LITTLE, CENTERED 8, AND THAT'S NOT WORTH A FUCKING BISCUIT.

Regardless, I KNOW ABOUT 8, AND THAT'S IT. So you just go on ahead not knowing about 8.

OH I DON'T KNOW ABOUT 8