asdfads

Bad trip to the infirmary. I was running blood down my face in back and forth motions timed with the noing I was doing with my head. Got punched in the face again; got beat alive by tiny ants so small in these tunnels like pin seaths….ummmmm….the blood keeps pumping and I work my way to the doctor, who is full of holes, but no longer bleeds. "What's the trouble?" I grin through a bloody mouth and let my tongue run around my lips to sop up the blood. "It's probably the Peruvian Bird Ticks. I'll get you something." That's when the doctor roundhouse kicked me in the face like I was some anchovy'd dog or something. But, it did the trick. I thanked him and walked back to the Burger King I was robbing. The police were there, but I was determined to get that smart alecky clerk back for tagging me in the face. Like, I have a face. No, I have more of a comical hole, now. It was long before. Back in the war that I lost my face and my elbows in this godforsaken hole in the ground called Cambodia. The United States had left twenty years before, but I continued my own war for my own reasons that I won't go into right now. But, back to the Burger King, where I'm pushing passed policemen and keep hearing "There's the guy! There's the guy!" But, I pay them no attention, and find the clerk with his Ruffles with Cheddar Cheese face and his purple sweater/pullover/Kevlar vest and I punch him in the face as hard as is humanly possible. He looks up and grins behind the blood and the police get there truncheons all around my face and I'm bleeding again. I walk with them, calmly, to the police car and once inside I say "Let's roll." Back at the station, they're reading me my rites/rights and getting funny with my pat down. One guy lingers on my man breasts too long and I hear a joke forming in his mouth, but just then, there's this explosion and we're all punched into the ground by large dinosaur foot that's been roaming the Earth since Betsy blew me in the back of a Buick late one Wednesday night. The police and the police station and the police cars, snack machines, door knobs, green pastures and so forth are all pushed passed me and I hop the hole and run like a maniac down the street hoping like hell the dinosaur doesn't pursue me.



Ha. Looking back at those old letters really brings back memories.

Hi, I'm Reginald Artress. I was once insane and now cured!

The above was a letter I wrote to Ronald Reagan back in March.

That's right! The above letter written to a dead President was written only two months ago and yet I stand here today completely cured of the brain disease that ravaged my life for nearly two decades.

Some of you may be asking yourself "Where can I get a brain disease like that?"

Well, you're in luck! I've kept the brain disease in a glass jar and it has multiplied into millions of small brain diseases that I can deliver directly to your door for only 43.95 $ (USD).

Cabbage Patch Kid with Recorder in Hollowed-Out Belly: But, why would I want a brain disease?

Me: It's simple: impress your friends, write a book, write music, song poetry; not to mention all the vacation time, attention, excuses for breaking up with people…did I mention the vacation time? Also, you'll be the life of the party when you:

Eat your own feces

Build Devil's Tower out of mashed potatoes

Summon alien investors to buy stock in your fictitious company that builds horses

Bite people on their teeth

Recite 18th century poetry

Explain why you voted Bush

And have sex with ordinary shag carpet.

Act now and you'll also get three trial packets of gingervitis.



Thank you and Buddha bless,

Harmy