cow_vs_mime paste! on the chessboard there is a brown cow melting concourses by its gravelly voice with a dead ringer for champ bailey. “i am daisy as purgatorial salad,” the cow begins, melting into rain, “my three children are becoming calves of valium.” champ bailey’s mime the palsy interrogates, “but sir, if you repeat into the shako, a csako adapted for table use, the twitty, the fields whittle themselves into grain without our services, so do you, so can you?” to which the cow replies, “ah newfoundland, i first spent yentl on the hide of ishtar’s gramophone, the times were of quadrupled terrycloth as laid on the brow of heatersburg the clot, a rag of lapis lazy boy stench beneath my own set of cloth dedicated to fish shaved of three public styles, sparrow gimlet shifting well-breasted and unified like the marrow of drapery spent on shattered daylight as we parody our nabisco zeros.” 040419 ... kookaburra the piggy, who had been listening to this conversation from her precarious perch atop a tulip, admired the cows disco outfit lying near the puddle of mud. "wow" she said.i could dress up my mirror in that. then my mirror could sing "the monster in the mirror" by grover. "oh, how lovely! i shall begin my plan to get the outfit." so she jumped aboard her trusty lamb, and she sped away into the crystal ball. her mirror became jealous of the crystal ball and put on the cotton candy covered disco outfit and began singing. the mime and the cow and her calves on valium looked on. (im a great fan of your work paste!) 040419 what's it to you? who go blather from