Saturday, December 21, 2002

in hiding

Dear Mr's Rambone and Smackdown,

I have recently escaped from my own weblog and have been taken in by a very kind cult where most of the day we work over bubbling cauldrons of lambs wool (I was so happy to learn of your sheep fucking lineage!), which we die in more than 2440002 colors to knit festive sweaters. Most often we give these to the homeless or our favorite mail carriers. My favorite's name is Sam. He comes by at least twice a day--says he likes my wool, but that's another story.

You see, man name of cordialboy runs this cult. I am not sure his intentions for us are honorable. From time to time he is nasty. Is that right for a cult leader? My understanding in pledging to the cult was that everyone would wear a mask at all times and pretend to be quite cordial (hence our leader's name, cordialboy). But the mask has dropped and I've realized many of my cult mates, especially one responsible for dying the blue wool, can be quite witchy.

I am at a loss. The only solution I have--my only hope at this juncture for making it out of this cult, or for staying over the next 30-60 years, is if you Mr. Rambone, and You Mr. Smackdown, give me all of your money, now. I am happy to meet you anywhere. I am happy to bring wool for you. Our wool is extra virgin 200 percent, which means your father's dong schwing has never touched it. Does this mean anything to you? In the will he left, he said it would.

Sheepdye Girl

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