Thursday, December 3, 2009

Carl Winslow's Corner: Mescaline Matters

Hello dream childrens! It’s your ol’ violent buddy Carl! Carl Winslow! It’s been awhile since we last spoke, and I’ve been mighty busy in the forest with my experiments. So far, I’ve successfully given 12 badgers Crohn's disease and drank a beaker full of meows. Cat meows enhance my animal communication skills, which are pretty good anyway. The other day, a caribou was talkin’ shit, going on about my eye pimples, so I pushed that motherfucker in front of a train. Ol’ Carl knows a thing or two about trains.

Also, I've been shape shifting, baby. Gotta be careful, though. Last time I got caught in a rusty trap. What can I say? The hunters loaded the trap with my favorite food - Dots. I couldn't help myself.


I was in the forest conversing with squirrels the other day, and an itty bitty medicine man tackled me to the ground and force fed me some mescaline he pulled out of a condom. I got high, children. My shirt burst off, as well as most of my back skin. During the first 3 hours of my trip, I suffocated six hikers in my armpit.


I was inside a floating cloud of clear smoke. I destroyed every tent in my path. Met some women whose tents I smashed. When they defended themselves, I laughed. Popped some rattlesnakes at 'em. Wuppaa!!! I’m not proud of it, but also, I am. My spiritual advisor, Neck Bubbles, demands blood. I obey.


Then I ate some sand and had to go to the hospital. Have you ever tried to chew sand? It fucks your teeth up bad. And your insides. My guts were in a state, children. Luckily, the doctors were able to open my stomach up and get that filthy sand outta me. Turns out I ingested four pounds of it. They also found a bunch of super bouncy balls in me, but I made the doctors put 'em back in. Most doctors are shameless thieves. They just want to take what’s inside of you, and those bouncy balls are mine! They can keep the sand.


Let’s see, what else?
-Burned a hole in my bed so the floor can see my ass when I sleep.
-Hid a bunch of money somewhere secret.
-Tackled a polar bear down a flight of stairs.

Oh, I almost forgot! I’ve been writing poetry. Here’s one I call ROBOTS CAN'T GET PREGNANT ...

Gonna dick your coochie hole!

Gonna make your ass explode!

Gonna take a dump, unload!

Gonna bake your face, Nicole!


Time’s up, kids! But don’t worry, I'm in your closet right now, wearing your clothes.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Punch your balls off!