"At last, a sleeping bag for goats!" exclaimed the president triumphantly.
"You obviously haven't even considered the possibility that perhaps the goats will be ten times too large," snapped the bigotted marsupial.
"Or the moo-factor," chimed the lava lamp.
"Shut up! Both of you, just shut up. Maybe if you would take the meat out of your ears you'd have some idea what I'm talking about," the president wailed. He was pretty frustrated.
"You watch it," the lava lamp warned the president.
"Alright, I'm sorry. Now, if you will allow me a blanket. Its all very simple. You wrap the blanket around your hand eight (8) times."
"Hold on," interrupted Michael Jackson, "are you seriously suggesting we wrap a blanket around our hand more than 7 (seven) times? Are you out of your fucking mind?"
"No! Dammit, listen. We introduce vanilla flavoured gum to the world. Once they have staged the annual exorcism.."
"That won't be happening this year." John-Paul regarded the others steadfastly. He had had just about (but not quite) enough of all this tasteless manuevering. He wanted to get on to the orgy.
"Yo man, just FUCK YOU," screamed Micheal Jackson (in Latin, of coourse).
"No, fuck you, Mikehead," bellowed John-Paul as the fork entered Michael's appendix.
"Can we get back to the meeting?" interrupted the bigotted marsupial.
"Alright. Now.. once we have everyone drooling, we simply get a truckload of sandpaper and smooth out the earth's surface. The beauty of this plan is that they will be slipping ON THEIR OWN SALIVA! No grounds for divorce!"
Toquefodder regarded the others with contempt. Never before had he witnessed such folly. Here they were, with a chance to virtually EAT the table, and they were sitting at it.
"No, it will never work," said the lava lamp. Ever since the failure of the tongue rallies in the 14's he had been depressed as a loaf of wood.
"Cheer up!" whimpered the Grim Reaper, the only person in attendance who was not.
"You have no right.." began the pope, but Toquefodder cut him off with a jar of plastic aimed at his tendons. Popes LOVE their tendonry.
The president wanted back in the spotlight. "Ooo.. I think I'm in labour!" he purred contentedly.
"Yeah yeah," said the bigotted marsupial. "Sure, we we take you down to the hospital and you pull out a jackal and stuff it down our throats. I don't think so." He looked around for support. There was none.
Toquefodder noticed the lava lamp hadn't taken a SIP of his coffee. "Have you got some sort of problem?" he yelled at the lava lamp.
"Yeah, my teeth are multiplying," said the lava lamp smugly.
"Shut up! You KNOW what happened to my mother!" Toquefodder grabbed the lava lamp, opened up the lid and drank it. The coffee looked on jealously.
Just then, the president gave birth. "Is it a boy or a girl, or both?"
"My god," whispered the Pope, "its urine."
-- The End --
* At one point, this file passed through Babble BBS - (XXX)XXX-XXXX *