Sporks are my friends and I speak to coat hangers. When I was a child the little twigs on the woodland path told me that my best friend wanted to sodomize a pickle. Years later I surprised him at his bar mitzvah by making his dream come true. What? It was a kosher pickle. Now I live in a small cubbyhole above Felix the Cat's underwear drawer, where I earn money by taking in laundry and redrawing animated characters to make them anatomically inappropriate. Check your underwear for spores people. What, is this some kind of a game?

I am naked, furred, and copulant

I prepare the world for the second coming of the spork age. I fleece full grown tartongas with nail clippers and honey. I make hats from meat. I try to guess how many people in public are wearing my underwear by gauging the furrows in their eyebrows.

Snorkeling in pudding, wearing your clothes, brazilian waxing with a lawnmower and smoking fish. I roll my own fish. I'm good at that too. I'm actually good at everything that includes the syllable ing.

My antannae, and my breasts, and the fact that I'm not wearing my underwear and they are.

(a) The Story of O (b) Kill Bill v.1&2 (c) Anything by Bloodhound Gang, Lords of Acid or Vanity 6 (d) Anything that can be enhanced with whippe cream or goldfish crackers. And bananas.

Spork, towel, semi-automatic salad shooter (I'ma vegetarian gunman), autographed Chasey Lane clit stimulator, onion rings and toilet paper

Sporks

Thinking about sporks, and trying to figure out who is wearing my underwear

You're wearing my underwear, and you like it

You'd like to give my underwear back, or pet my Venus flytrap.