I know peace

Who Thought That We Would Ever Get To This Place

Oh you bi-nam beaver eater. You remember laying in the moldy basement talking to the most important girlfriends Hey. Who is that that you've been keeping secret from us, is he some kind of celebrity, in which case, fuck you and everything you're made of. Oh, pps, that game you've been playing, it's already won, and in spades! Everyone knew but you and I've thumbed a burrito for the difference.

What happens when the things you believe in coast sperm in the five-alive hot-spray.

We don't completely agree with your.

Remember when you.

Tried as hard as you could to make it hard sprints hard.

Irrepressibly Yours,
Doctor Eight

Darren's Good Work. COBOL classes forthcoming, D.

Interlochen is the Place for Tangly Pussies and Young Adults Into Aught Egyptology, Hey It's a Hobby, Go Make A Drink and Sleep in it.

What do you play, flute?

Doctor Eight told me to tell you he loves that.

99% of learning is yearning, babe, don't look at me in my eyes, I'll fucking cut you.

All Best,
Stephen

NYGA\B Audited, and Who Said Something About Our Financial Character

Many outlets have chummily discussed what has passed unceremoniously over here over the last few up and downers. It's called tax season, ape. Someone took a call, and the precious prodigy failed to discuss our tax exempt status. We've all got a toilet bowl filled with mumpy bloody lies, because we sit on the same one, get it? Even if you have D it's like a contract not to talk about it, right? Well put this through the CPU: many many people must answer for your omission. With receipts, and what else?

I neglect your name, piss pot. Everyone makes mistakes, and many of them land good folks with bad luck behind bars and mopping up boring messes.

I don't care how good you are at your fancy math show off sessions, you won't sleep neat for quite some time J.D. We'll all see you tomorrow at the Union Square hook up. Don't bother to bring your scooter, I have a feeling you'll be walking home.

Regrets,
Doctor Eight

THE RECIPE FOR TASTING FEAR

Required Items:

The Hard Flange Mold, Inside Better Butter
Quart Oil
60 Starch Gels, Clam Shapes
24 Ham Roll Ups
Bowl Sour Mild Milk
8 Tablespoons Black Sugar
130 Olives
The Stirrups of Holding
Clot Nut Meat

STEPS

1. Get your Quart Oil on the go towards bubbling at 150 Degrees F. Your head start is to shut that big fat fucking mouth about your nerves and commence loading 24 Ham Roll Ups on The Stirrups of Holding. Do not rip that Ham.

2. Your 60 Starch Gels, Clam Shapes get tossed into the Quart Oil. They form a trendy sizzle around the perimeter.

3. A basic for this project is The Hard Flange Mold, Inside Better Butter. It must be filled with olives by this point or the total taste will be fundamentally disappointing. Right inside goes your Bowl Sour Mild Milk. The olives will not float for lack of liquid. but it's on it's way. Give up right now. You tried to pee in your mouth when you were a filthy and disgusting teenager.

4. Flip the crisp Starch Gels, Clam Shapes into your Hard Flange Mold, Inside Better Butter. Empty leftovers from your Quart Oil right in there. Now that's hot soup!

5. Just before things get interesting, break your Clot Nut Meat to taste into The Hard Flange Mold, Inside Better Butter. By the way, your Inside Better Butter coating has melted off into your Quart Oil and Bowl Sour Mild Milk, not to mention into the Starch Gels; it's a savory sworl.

6. The last step is to wedge your Stirrups of Holding bearing Ham Roll Ups down into the thick mix. Stirrups are made for unlocking, mongoloid. Do it!

7. Decorate with your 8 Tablespoons Black Sugar. Consume this with a fancy old wooden spoon alone, because you couldn't pay someone enough money to spend time to eat your Recipe for Tasting Fear.

No one likes you!

Stephen's Hot Confession: Pretending is the Thing That Gets Us Down

I had a walkaround yesterday. Trouble: the doubts surrounding permeability, and nails are smacked into the old sea wood. The wood was, well, spongy. And fear made it the aisle length nightmare that Doctor Eight encouraged me to share around the horn.

We've all been reading some aught publishing and reporting to the web death-heads provide. Raise the gauze, 'cause the wounds are wimpy and wide. Jealousy. And what of it? That's the sack that, when handed to you, is passed left and hard, "That sack doesn't belong to me and I cede."

The future's dicey. And what of it.

I am Stephen and Doctor Eight asked me to write this:

1) Don't fucking litter!

2) If you have the time and resources, learn to speak Spanish! It's a form of respect!

3) To the people that cry dick position–read them words!

This has been my way to express myself.

Love Always Different Parts,
Stephen

Corner Fun, From Fourth Avenue Care Post [Peter submits]

Sticky Social: NYGA\B Hit the Carbs, and Hard!

Mark-Douglas reporting on Sunday's social:

With bagelbread torpor, Doctor Eight induced what we all knew was the thick point of the night: a chancey session of bonding big-time, and the truthful sharing. I was given pen and pad, so I missed grooming and shapes made in the conference room, legs wide open. Casey gave a prompt and, not least, crass report on his fund-raising efforts at local watering holes. The children of tomorrow have to wait. Drunks've got all the cash!

On the physical half of things, the spread was all cream and cream accepting treats. Ogden was remanded for focusing on televised sports, and negged his chance for Tasting Tradition on that day I can tell you. Ogden that bloody bitch we glued him up and glued him good. Your glasses are your least problems such sad and runny things will come from inside of you, bud humper. Eat crank and die Ogden, and where's the spirit Doctor Eight called out your name for?

Back to the grill again. Emphases were placed heavily and heartily on hygienic washing, and watching weight. We happily acknowledge the round pipes and the safety of our vehicles out front. In conclusion, the meeting was mighty and pleasure though last in turn, was not least appreciated by all except the badly behaved.

My thanks to Doctor Eight for this submission. Fuck your insides S.T.A.L.L.I.O.N. from the juniors, but we don't understand your bottom line. Everyone's got the length to learn: Why did you break our hearts?

We will heal.

Happy Tuesday!
Mark-Douglas Kenner, NYGA\B

Sausage Speaks: S.T.A.L.L.I.O.N. has left the building HE MEWLED.

A big hope threat never plied too much on the group's feelings less an open zippered lollygagger. Big voodoo's throbbing through the old dowsing rod.

We inch to your hot weeping corner, S.T.A.L.L.I.O.N, and it has been recorded. Your absence from peachy constitutional do-gooding over the last past has brought us half-mast. But the big however.

Your founding is demanding, and the little fellas have carved their names in the letters you gave them on the big trunk. Letting them down is pumping cooking up horse medicine, and you would know down the other end perhaps? Hey mastery, whodunnit?

We wait and wait for new age clarity.

Stephen, I need you by my side, our dilemma is dawning.

Eternal Peace,
Doctor Eight