From: joemahoney1950@gmail.com   
      
   My fellow geriatric twiddlers of the joystick, it, meaning that day, that   
   sacred day, the day on which God rested, Sundee, has come.  Dribbling slowly   
   like a slab of lukewarm meatloaf, or the Quarter Pounder and Fries that of   
   been fermentin' unda your    
   livin room sofa fer the past month (it's still edible; trust me), or your   
   beloved slow-witten children, who prefer Sodie-Pop to Coffa in the moanin.   
      
   Fokes, let's rest togetha.  On the flowa, with the cheeseburga wrappa's an   
   mice; with the bugg's an roaches, with the dirty malodorous stained pance an   
   undies, with the mounds of fecal matta left behine as GIF's from our   
   aminal's...   
      
   Speakerin of aminal's, didja God createred them, as he cratered us, man, an   
   the planet's an straws, in juss six days, but on the 7th (Sundee) he in his   
   omnipotent powa's needed a rest.  A few boxes o' donits, a few howa's on the   
   ole X-bos, a period of    
   dribblin' at the ole TeeBee.     
      
   Therefore it behooves us to do the same.  Erlax.  Take it Ease-Uh.  Drink some   
   sodie-popp's.  (We can swish to Bug Lite latta.)  Eat some junk food, putton   
   mowa wate.  We can burn offa dem calries latta, when it's Budwisa o'Clock,   
   chasin each otha thru    
   the woodd's, stuffin each otha with bratbursts, explodin in gooey gulches, and   
   bleaten like beasts.     
      
   All in the name of Jesus.   
      
   Joe "spiritual not relgious" M.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)