No, but you can use it to leave messages for other people.
Possibly, but I don't as yet know how...
In this Universe nothing can be less impossible than It itself.
yes, but you have to stick your head into the bowl and read them from
underwater.
Cheers!
Doc
Somebody did that at a smaller Tampa, Florida "devival" and the
meaning was debated for weeks afterwards.
I'll betcha it was from a dimented individual. No, "dimented" is not a
typo. You see, if one leaves a message via handwriting, that's one
dimension. If they write the message in snow wriiten with their piss,
that's two dimensions. But if they leave their message BEHIND scrawled
with shit, that's obviously the turd dimension.
Nope. That's just shit. The truly worthwhile products from an
excremeditaton session cannot be seen, heard, touched, felt, or
expressed in the usual way with our puny senses.
No, this is akin to touching the face of "Bob", if only for a few brief
moments.
<cue sitar music>
Empty your mind. Feel the power of the sphincters. Learn to control
them. Let them be under your complete control. Now, relax.
There.
Bathe in the warmth of the relaxed sphincters.
That's partially true. You gotta scoop them out, let them ferment for
a few weeks in a sealed jar and inhale the fumes;
I thought we've all been through these directions before?
I dunno. In my case, I seem to pass a lot of J's and I's, rarely a K or
sometimes an S or a U, maybe a C. Aren't many words you can spell with
that.
And the font is definately SANS SERIF.
Then again on a particularly rough day where I'm a littal dehydrated, it
kind of looks like MORSE CODE ...-...!
Perhaps each day's offarings are all part of a lifelong saga...
[*]
-----
FUK I SHUDV READ THAT ON THE TOILET NOW I GOTTA CLEAN UP
No Excremeditation session is without meaning, though they are complex
and shifting meanings. Perhaps they can be sometimes, though you
should trust only in "Bob" to tell you what you REALLY think they
mean. This may occur during another Excremeditation exercise, or it
may happen when you're barreling down the interstate at 190 mph and
smash through a barrel whose splinters spontaneously rearrange
themselves on whats left of your windshield to tell you in plain
English, "HEY PAN THIS 'BOB' YOUR DOOKY MEAN YOU GIVE CHURCH MUNEE"
and then you terminally crash into a hidden Atlantean cache of riches
that happen to look exactly like $1 bills, scattering them hither and
yon until one of them happens to land in Stang's path at the grociery
store and he doesn't notice it.
The reading of yeti fewmets is a venerable practice and one not to be
taken lightly. For is it not written that to one who has vision, much
can be discerned 'in the droppings,' yet to one who goes forth without
care the path may be like unto a dry shag?
--
HellPope Huey
I have a song in my heart,
but its a microtonal version of
"South of Old Compton""
"Have you ever been indicted?"
"Not since I was a baby, Your Honor."
~ "The Three Stooges"
"You can't go out to play today, kids;
the Giant Flea Alert Level is at Orange."
~ Jon Stewart
"Bob" DAMN!
Interlecturals Are So SMRAT!
it's about eight or so dismentions!
"Doktor Dark" <drd...@37.com> wrote in message
news:8da1a614-0719-489b...@m73g2000hsh.googlegroups.com...