In this time of Supreme Court Justice nominations. In commemoration of 
COD's ability to born BP again.


  SOS Gab & Eti 1.0

My very dear friends from grade school, Gabriel and Etidorpha Orgrease, 
a few months back, at my encouragement, placed a note on the I-way 
regarding restoration techniques appropriate to use on the portable 
fiberglass toilet that their father, pappy Buck Orgrease, had been 
storing out behind the barn since he had brought it home following a 
1970 war moratorium, on a steam barge, with the erogenous belief that 
the object was, as a representative sampling of American vernacular 
architecture, somewhat symbolic of our Nation's hollowed seat.

Gab and Eti regret that their monochrome Kaypro was summarily fried 
during a recent re-enactment of a Nicolai Tesla power transmission 
experiment (and,  yes, they expect their doggie Altuna will recover 
consciousness and thank all their well wishers for the wealth of letters 
of sympathy in this time of their pressing anxiety and insist I convey 
that all the cash donations have come in handy to cover the bar bills), 
and being now fried of the technical obligation to send or receive 
e-mail, they think they wish to thank everyone, also, who took the time 
from their professional careers in historic preservation to offer them 
such wonderful advice on what to do with their inherited John. They also 
need to know what to do with a petrified pappy Buck Orgrease. They don't 
seem to be able to get him separated from the heirloom rocker in the 
basement despite the use of a blow torch and cotton balls soaked in 
alum. But that is another set of problems we need not go into here, 
possibly later on.

Regrettably, having brought so much public attention to their ass-et 
(sort of like a dysfunctional deconstructionist dinette?) the 
Commonwealth has made a legal move to confiscate the historic object as 
Buck expired interstate following closely on a midnight hooch run.

Feeding into the national proliferation of conspiracy theories, Gab and 
Eti believe that the actual acquisitive interest of the Commonwealth 
resides with the honorable Judge Yuro Peese Uckerknobb, a highly 
decorated WW2 veteran, who, in several grammatically incorrect 
editorials in the Bullamanka Bugle-Clarion Rosewater Pennysaver, has 
made a vociferous objection to the patrimony of the Orgrease crapper, 
laying claim that the whole shebang is a perpetrated hoax of obese 
proportions and that the copious goings-on claimed against the carnal 
house are a figment of the lunatic fringe of unfettered liberalism that 
is rampantly degrading and intermixing the rainbow hues of Western 
civilization into a postulant fudge of mono-hued function overlying 
organic style and diversity. Nobody really understood anything the Judge 
was trying to say and they had all grown weary of trying to decipher the 
import of his rantings. It was apparent that Judge Uckerknobb prefers 
the touch-feebly warmth of his weathered-oak seat. Despite this, Gab and 
Eti have been forced to counter press that the fiberglass box is not all 
that large and would accommodate reasonable expected human encounters 
with the natural, as well as unnatural, as complicit with the histrionic 
era of free love, New Age, and all that be here now bullshit.

--
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