From: joemahoney1950@gmail.com   
      
   My fellow fellators of the florid fungus, Father's Day approaches and I'm   
   itchin' to shaya this memory of MY Dad, Joe Mahoney Sr., with you all.  So   
   gather, crack open the Bud Lites, and hear me out.  And don't be afraid to   
   massage the man next to you.     
   We are Al-Rightes afta all.   
      
   So one day, actually one evening in 1983, I had a friend ova.  We stayed up   
   late, smokin some weed, drinkin some Budwisa's and were watchin' MTV.  Music   
   videos were novel and fun back then.  They were a kick!  Especially if you   
   were buzzed.   
      
   Now, my dad was a sweaty type, and summa in Maxichusipp's was HOT & HUMID.  So   
   Dad installed GIANT air-conditioners in every window.  They ROARED.  So my   
   friend and I had turned the one in the livin' room off, so's we could HEAR and   
   not just see these    
   music videos.  Now, any time anyone turned off an air conditchna, Dad would go   
   into a rage!  He'd scream profanities like a drunken saila -- or like inbred   
   trailer trash as the case may be.  In any event, my friend and I were safe.    
   Cause dad was asleep.    
       
      
   But then it happened.  And I shoulda known.  Cuzzit happened EVERY nite.  Dad   
   emerged from his room, in a trance state, to raid the refrigerator (sp?).  He   
   grunted and snorted as he made his way to the fridge.  And then he found    
   mom's chocolate-cherry    
   cake, and he began to make disgutin slurpin, chompin noises.  Then he found   
   the leftova bobba-Q ribb's, and began suckin and an slurpin on those.  Then he   
   made his way to the potato salad.  Then the ice cream in the freeza.   
      
   Now my friend came from a different type o family where they didn't do this.    
   And he was quite grossed out by Dad's noises.     
      
   "Just hold on," I said, "He'll be done soon."     
      
      
   But it didn't stop.  Dad kept findin more things to shove down his gapin maw.    
   And in fact he got louda and LOUDA.     
      
   My freind looked sickened and ready to up and run.     
      
   "Soon there won't be any more food left, and he'll have to go back to bed," I   
   said.     
      
   Finally, Dad emptied the eniya contents of the fridge into his gut.  And he   
   BELCHED.  LOUDLY.     
      
   "Okay," I thought, "it's finally over."     
      
      
   But it wasn't.  Dad had emerged from his trance-state enought to notice that   
   the livin room aira conditchna was off.  And he howled in a falsetto voice:    
   "Who the fuck turned the aya condishna off?"     
      
   And he began to march, puffin and gasperin, gasperin and puffin, into the   
   livin room.   
      
   He enta'd the livin room, and turned the aya conditchna back on.    
      
   He turned round and glaya'd at us, with his beady little black eyes.    
      
   Dad's face was covid in chocolate cake frostin.   
      
   And he was naked, his belly the size of a beach ball protrudin.   
      
   Naked except for a giant throbbing strap-on DILDO.   
      
   My friend neva came by the house again.   
      
   Joe "large and in charge" M.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)