Webster
Hogan, he's so fine, he sends the ladies into libidinous convulsions,
and creates a yearning for denim vests in every suggestable young
man he encounters. He once drank the blood of a falcon on stage,
only later to vomit a near perfect casting of his stomach, in
coagulated avian corpuscles. Local radio station KWEP held a Webster
Hogan rockalike contest, offering as a grand prize, dinner at
Le Grandeur Poulon with the man-myth himself. Dozens of stout,
sturdy, barrel chested metalheads were hospitalized in their vain
attempts to become he-who-can-not-be posed. Eventually the contest
was called off due to widespread electrocution and ink poisoning.
Webster himself claimed the prize, consuming 2 whole fried chickens,
only later to vomit a near perfect casting of his stomach, in
extra tasty crispy avian corpuscles.
Kerry,
Kerry, so contrary, what the fuck is your deal? Kerry is just
too nice, all the time. It gets on peoples' nerves. You know what
I'm talking about. He's a weird-ass close talker, you know? Gets
just one inch inside your personal bubble, always telling you
how nice your shirt looks, even though he's seen it a dozen times.
He worked a double shift at the co-op feed store to cover for
Brent Cleveland and Paige Fontaine, claiming he just wanted "the
experience." They're both still waiting for the other shoe
to drop, dig? It's just unnatural. I mean, the guy lives in a
fiberglass playground hamburger! By choice! I mean, it's hard
to hate on a guy just for being helpful, but you'd have to look
all day to find one positively negative trait about him. Ray says
his eyepatch smells like "ball mucus," but Ray's just
a jerk like that. I dunno. Kerry, man. The fuck?
In
other, equally awesome news, Curtis has totally let himself go,
and is no longer piling his hair into a precision afrover.
The
Chester Fennington three quarter was minted in a very limited
edition in east pensylvania, and likely ended up in curtis' posession
via a dealing with one Mr. Kerry Barrett, whereupon Kerry gave
Curtis the coin in question as change back from the purchase of
a rather used copy of Bonnie Prudden's Keep Fit - Be Happy LP,
which he sumarily left on the bus.
Webster
Hogan, he's so fine, he sends the ladies into libidinous convulsions,
and creates a yearning for denim vests in every suggestable young
man he encounters. He once drank the blood of a falcon on stage,
only later to vomit a near perfect casting of his stomach, in
coagulated avian corpuscles. Local radio station KWEP held a Webster
Hogan rockalike contest, offering as a grand prize, dinner at
Le Grandeur Poulon with the man-myth himself. Dozens of stout,
sturdy, barrel chested metalheads were hospitalized in their vain
attempts to become he-who-can-not-be posed. Eventually the contest
was called off due to widespread electrocution and ink poisoning.
Webster himself claimed the prize, consuming 2 whole fried chickens,
only later to vomit a near perfect casting of his stomach, in
extra tasty crispy avian corpuscles.
Kerry,
Kerry, so contrary, what the fuck is your deal? Kerry is just
too nice, all the time. It gets on peoples' nerves. You know what
I'm talking about. He's a weird-ass close talker, you know? Gets
just one inch inside your personal bubble, always telling you
how nice your shirt looks, even though he's seen it a dozen times.
He worked a double shift at the co-op feed store to cover for
Brent Cleveland and Paige Fontaine, claiming he just wanted "the
experience." They're both still waiting for the other shoe
to drop, dig? It's just unnatural. I mean, the guy lives in a
fiberglass playground hamburger! By choice! I mean, it's hard
to hate on a guy just for being helpful, but you'd have to look
all day to find one positively negative trait about him. Ray says
his eyepatch smells like "ball mucus," but Ray's just
a jerk like that. I dunno. Kerry, man. The fuck?
