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    _____________       _/_/     | | \ \          _/_/     _____________
   |  ___________     _/_/       | |  \ \       _/_/       ___________  |
   | |              _/_/_____    | |   > >    _/_/_____               | |
   | |             /________/    | |  / /    /________/               | |
   | |                           | | / /                              | |
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   | |                                                                | |
   | |      c   o   m   m   u   n   i   c   a   t   i   o   n   s     | |
   | |________________________________________________________________| |
   |____________________________________________________________________|

...presents...                 Pantslessness
                                                       by Mark Buda
                                                       01/01/1997-#328

            __//////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\__
  Est. 1984   \\\\\\/    xXx   BOW to the COW   xXx    \//////   Est. 1984

   __    _   _    __     _   _    __       _   _      __    _   _      __
  |__heal_the_sick__raise_the_dead__cleanse_the_lepers__cast_out_demons__|

    My pants deny my existence.  I struggle with them daily, yet they insist
that they are the master.  Who is to settle this dispute?  Lying and wheezing
in my bed of potato and vinegar, I call for the princes of the boudoir, but
they heed me not.  I fret, and in fretting, I sprain a whim.  Damn.  I must
go, and leave my pants behind.  I spit on them as I leave, but they are not
ashamed.

    I stroll down the avenue, aware that in my pantslessness I am the focus
of attention.  I am secretly elated, but at the same time, I am worried.  I
do not have a spaniel, either, yet I do not experience the joy of being
without one.  I collapse in the street, crying bitter tears at the emotions I
can only deduce, for I am too numb to experience them.  I am wracked by
despair as I realize I have been feeling the rapture of kazoolessness my
entire life, and yet it has not moved me.

    As I lie sprawled in the street, passersby stop to taunt me and throw me
gnarled twigs.

    I catch and eat them, for I deserve no better.

    And as I crunch on my gritty repast, I feel a prod in a part of my body
that only one creature dares to touch.  Could it be - it is!  My pants!  They
have come to rescue me!

    No, it is only a squirrel.

    When, at last, I return home, I find that my pants have locked me out
and have taken my wives for their own, and are redecorating the palace.  I
have only myself to blame.

                                            http://www.clark.net/pub/hermit/
   .-.                             _   _                             .-.
  /   \           .-.             ((___))             .-.           /   \
 /.ooM \         /   \       .-.  [ x x ]  .-.       /   \         /.ooM \
-/-------\-------/-----\-----/---\--\   /--/---\-----/-----\-------/-------\-
/lucky  13\     /       \   /     `-(' ')-'     \   /       \     /lucky  13\
          \   /         `-'         (U)         `-'         \   /
           `-'              the original e-zine              `-'    _
     Oooo                    eastside westside                     / )   __
/)(\ (   \                       WORLDWIDE                        /  (  /  \
\__/  )  /  Copyright (c) 1997 cDc communications and the author. \   ) \)(/
      (_/   Award-winning CULT OF THE DEAD COW is a trademark of   oooO
         cDc communications, PO Box 53011, Lubbock, TX, 79453, USA.      _
 oooO           All rights reserved.  Edited by Swamp Ratte'.      __   ( \
/   ) /)(\                                                        /  \  )  \
\  (  \__/       Save yourself!  Go outside!  Do something!       \)(/ (   /
 \_)                     "THE COW WALKS AMONGST US"                    Oooo

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