My pantaloons are full of weasels
I have a cellular phone made of cheese
Why is there radium in my donkey's bunghole?
Giant ferns make poor policemen
My food stamps crawl slowly up my nose
The voices tell me to play golf
Mr. Postman, do not tease my raccoon!
Left-handed midgets have stolen my aluminum foil
I am afraid of yield signs
My cement platypus cannot yet sing opera
These shoes think often of pineapple
My girlfriend is a paper-mache walrus
My pancreas explodes in ecstasy!
All space mimes will be decapitated
This cruel salad teaches gymnastics
Soon the spaceship will take away my blues
(c) 2003 Hidden Agenda