Saturday Night's All Right, but Only in My Mouth

Fuck Elton John. He doesn't know shit. I know shit. I do. I've also put something in my mouth. Can you guess what it is?

A) The quaalude-soaked brain of the cretinous busboy at the Original Pancake House
B) An optical illlllluuuuusion
C) A seven-pound tablet of Bayer aspirin
D) The huge snot rocket I found under the third pancake in the stack, glistening and yellow and smeared with imitation maple syrup
E) The fact that I felt sort of bad that a really unhealthy man gobbed on my 'cakes instead of a really healthy one
F) A raw chicken wing
G) A big, fat cock (or is it an optical illlllluuuuusion?)


Anonymous Anonymous said...

ooo! The implications!

11:27 AM  
Anonymous Bus bhuh? What was that? said...

Ummm. Yeah. Do you. Want, ummm. What was it? Syrup. Right. Syrup. Okay?

11:28 AM  
Blogger My Mouth said...

You've captured the busboy EXACTLY.

Drool a little more and pick your nose and you'd be perfect.

11:39 AM  
Blogger My Mouth said...

The implications of WHAT?

11:40 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Of faxing about that dump! THOSE implications! It's time you came clean about that dump.

11:51 AM  
Blogger My Mouth said...

You're not FOCUSING on my mouth. What matters is my mouth and its contents, not something that's not in there now.



You CAN.

11:56 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

That fucking squirrel-weasel thing at the end scared the crap out of me.

1:56 PM  
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4:24 AM  

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