non_pampas_mentos tonya six-string amotos in hand and llama in tow 1'1'1_trichloroethane_allen_furniture driving along fields where the graucho_mrxist runs free (or at least at a steeply discunted rate) the asadero shoots himself in the head with a cabbage while remembering that he cannot pedal his bike backwards on thursdays for fear of tree_nipples and rice. Lost, confused and generally smelling of goat, the flautas_de_iguana write a poem about mosnter trucks and armor_piercing nachos in a language not even the laser_nuts can understand. It will be business as usual by saturday, then we will all be the freshmakers 030508 ... god take a ride on a glass-bottomed goat 030525 what's it to you? who go blather from