Dear Doctor Down-Down,
I have a dream, a wonderful dream of a more peaceful and inclusive hash. I dream of a world where Mr. McDowell and Magic work together to put out the best hash directory ever. I dream of using the world interhash float to buy everyone’s ticket to the next interhash. I dream of free-flowing beer at down-downs, but no one gets mean drunk and there’s enough sober drivers to take everyone home. I dream of perfect trails with shady beverage stops and plenty of public restrooms and lots of happy children. I dream that hashers are invited to the White House. What do you think of my dream? Isn’t it wonderful?
Funny you should mention. I had a dream too, just last night . . . I was by this wall behind some sort of factory or something, anyway, there was this dry metallic smell and it was all smoky and everything was dirty, you know? I felt like I’d been socked in the belly. I couldn’t catch my breath. I was wearing a red tube top and white underpants, which were pulled up in this really tight wedgie so that my balls hung out on each side, and they hurt. I had no shoes. Some guy with a woman’s face was lurking in the shadow of the wall with this really long nasty club in his hand, or maybe it was an enormous dick, and he was staring at me and saying “What’re you looking at?” over and over. I couldn’t move or answer him. I had this Nixon mask on. Finally I started to walk down these railroad tracks, and then a lot of people came around the end of the wall and were pointing at me. I was acutely aware of my balls sticking out. I tried to tuck them into my underpants but now I had no underpants and I was naked. Suddenly I remembered I had finals that day for a class I’d skipped all semester. I ran naked across the campus and everyone was staring but I kept running and running. I found a seat in the back of this totally packed auditorium and opened the test, and it was all in some kind of writing I couldn’t make any sense of, like when you’re a little kid before you learn to read. I was overwhelmed with sadness. I woke up feeling anxious, dirty, and guilty, as if I’d committed some reprehensible crime and would be apprehended any minute, and didn’t start to really believe it was only a dream until lunch. When I got home that evening my bed was still soaking wet. Oh, sorry . . . what were you saying?
Dear Doctor Down-Down,
Flying Booger’s lack of ethics has become so flagrant that it merits our complete attention. Wait! Before you dismiss me as frightful, hear me out. Of course, he frequently progresses into displays of authority he doesn’t have. Notice the pusillanimous tendency of his actions. The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Booger? As will become apparent some day, his yes-men have an inadequate grasp of acceptable scientific method and data interpretation. The underlying message is that it is important to realize that he is trying to deflect attention from his testy practices. What he is doing falls just short of giving handguns to schoolchildren. Is Booger so anti-democratic as to think that this can go on forever? If he is allowed to strap us down with a network of rules and regulations, the implications can be widespread?
It is naive to think that he wouldn’t make our country spiritually blind if he got the chance. In case you have any doubts, many exhibitionists have an intense identification with confused voluptuaries (especially the impetuous type). I am troubled by Booger’s constant exaggerations and half-truths. Why doesn’t Booger try doing something constructive for once in his life? If some people are offended by my mentioning that some deep void within Booger makes it necessary for him to move increasingly towards the establishment of a totalitarian Earth, then so be it. We need to lead each other towards the understanding that I’m tired of crass obscene clods. To sum it all up, Flying Booger’s politics are misleading and deceptive.
In the first place, AOL would never allow anyone to use “Opensnatch” as a screen name. In the second place, it’s perfectly obvious that the above message, or whatever it is, was written by a machine, probably a steam-driven differential engine of North Korean origin. In the third place, Access Denied, get a fucking life!
Doctor Down-Down’s Pathological Plea of the Month
Dear Doctor Down-Down,
While jogging through the park behind the ice-cream truck the other day (nubile female bait), I slipped on a used condom and fell flat on my ass. The park garbage picker came by before I could recover and skewered the condom on his nail-stick. Since the condom was lying on the big toe area of my jogging shoe, I suffered a grievous wound. It is not only painful, but is showing signs of being pregnant.
My question to you is, as usual, multi-faceted.
a. Can big toes be impregnated by used condom residue?
b. Are nail-stick nails required to be registered as lethal weapons?
c. Why didn’t the ice-cream truck tire pick up the condom?
d. Who is legally responsible for supporting big toe offspring?
e. Do you suppose I could get a 10% discount from the ice cream man?
I’m not really worried yet, but my big toe is getting bigger every day. What the hell do I do before I can’t get my shoes on any more? I have absolute trust that one of your divine visions will provide the answer to all of my questions.
Yer luvving worship slug,
How lovely to hear from you again! Your letters give me such a tingle . . . something like a cross between a migraine and menstrual cramping. Excuse me for a minute, I think I have an attack of diarrhea coming on . . .
Okay, I’m better now. To answer your questions, in order: yes, only in Deleware, excessive tread wear, the birth mother (in this case, that would be you), and probably not but it’s worth asking. Wear sandals, quit smoking and drinking for the next few months, and start taking Lamaze classes. I’m sure Aqua Lungs would love to be your breathing coach.
Let this be a lesson to all. Condoms alone do not guarantee safe sex!
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