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Maculate Conception - 7/23/02
By Bel Garion
Published each Tuesday


Where the hell are you?


Dear Bob,

I've been sick. Horribly and painfully, sick. It all started when I noticed that someone was turning every other one of my black socks a dark navy blue. In an attempt to get even, I stopped washing my socks. At the end of the day instead of taking them off in the garage and throwing them into the wash, I was folding them up and stuffing them back into my drawer. On the third day while getting dressed, I noticed that the paint on the walls was coming off and found my half dressed wife passed out on the kitchen floor. She apparently had made for the door but her legs gave out before she could get out. I smiled, left my wife in the kitchen, and went back to my room. There I found a small gnome in my sock drawer trying to cut out his tongue with a tie tack. I stuffed the helpless thing into one of my socks and microwaved it until it stopped kicking. Then, after airing out the house and burying the dirty socks in the back yard, I fried and ate the little bugger. That little bastard gave me the shits something awful and gas so painful that I thought I was going to die. But now I am OK so I'll be seeing you soon.


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