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But let’s go back to the matter at hand, that being the Shredded Wheat of
which we are all so familiar. There are many who proclaim that this
subject is too racy to get into, but they are fornicators and blasphemers
and pornographers and whoremongers and pimps and debauchers and molesters
and sodomites and their opinion really doesn’t matter. So inasmuch as Shredded Wheat is racy to these perverts, we must also prolong the fact that there are daisies growing in the proverbial meadow - which in truth is merely our own perception of the gradual dysfunction that reverberates so abundantly there. Therefore, the paradoxical equation we encounter is a diverging metamorphosis of our own transformation from what we are to what we will be. But will that effect what we were? Philosophers are still debating this point even as we sit here touching ourselves inappropriately. And there are even those who say; ‘But what of the tartar sauce? For what is a fish finger without the tartar sauce? Yea verily.’ Well to them I say, “#@!* you ! You @#%ing sons of mother ! @#&ing !@#%$ I’ll #%@ your !@#$ so hard you’ll be !@#$ing out your !@#$ for a week! For, in truth, what is the tartar sauce without the fish finger? And that’s where you get them every time.Shredded Wheat, fish fingers, tartar sauce...none of it really matters in the end. For in the end we must all face the floating purple monkeys. And it is there we must truly strive to obtain the full spectrum of colors inside the box. While the colors outside the box are merely an afterthought of our own magnitude of trans-fatty acids in butter. And somewhere Belboz is muttering, “I never meant to bring you to my world.”
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12/23/2004 11:25:43 AM
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