Welcome to The Slosh. Prepare to feel underutilised and preconsumed. Below you can read some snippets from The Slosh, that you may fully realise the error of your ways now and go away before you become extraneously bored.

Given that you're still wanting a link or something, click here to start the painful process of surrealism.

Well, it is April once again. Spring Break is upon us. And like millions of other college students, I am spending this week at home, broke, and on my last box of milk bones. Spring sucks. I think there's a term paper due next week, but I'm afraid that I'll worry about it, so I don't think of it. I gotta go, I gotta go, I gotta go. Jump around. There's a box next to my 5th grade sock in my desk. It has a blinky light in it. It blinks when you flick the switch (a lot like a girl I once knew). Has anyone priced Okra lately? Amongst its two uses are artificial snot and innertube repair adhesive. In the greek language, Okra is spelled "distufdasteslykcrap". No wonder it isn't very popylar (popylar) in greek. (Incidently, I find it much easier to put -[sic]- after each misspelled word rather than hit the backspace key.) I [sic] pleriboos [sic] Yunimm [sic]. (Retraction goes here.)
Mind you, between his electrosymbiotic plasmatic 'Wendy Olean Williams' electrical-tape-and-shaving-cream-on-the-nipples body armor and the Blake- Stone-Number-Five-Grenade-And-Pizza-Flamethrower-Launcher, moving wasn't such an easy proposition. He had, however, luck on his side: the taxmonger had to push all that paperwork to move at all--though move he did, for the wheels of civil service turn, even if but slowly.
Vee arr showroooom dummiz. Or something.

Computer questions ordinary humans should not have to answer. Or ask.

How far does PING travel? When I'm eighty-odd miles from my M: drive, can't I just ping the server to bring the link back up? Is a frame relay like a relay frame, a panel in which you put electrical switches, relays? Is a fullbody massage like massaging the data? And what the fuck does that have to do with the wine country anyway? Why do they call it the wine country when it's not a country, and why do we say "they"?

Okay, so they're not all pooter queries. *You* try fucking the tip wizard. Those damn goldfish, even if they are baked instead of fried, are lethal in large doses. I think I'll switch to the chocolate. Lindt is not lint. I think I'll try the fish sampler please. Did you find anything crunchy in that jar?

I never did like knights much, you know. They're all just daddy's boys, wearing their papa's armor and riding his horse all around, like it made them big shots or something. I never could dig it much. But, hey, I pretty much left them alone and they would pretty much leave me alone, you know.

Until that one day.

I'm sitting on my mule in the parking lot next to Sumarian Grilled Dragon when up rides some punk knight. Probably just got his spurs. He'd just slain his first dragon. I know this because he went to great lengths to tell everybody. And he had one of those regulation virgins, you know, wearing the white dress and everything, like she was something special, which she wasn't.

Anyway, I'm sitting there, just starting to sink my teeth into a nice piece of grilled basilisk when he rides up, like I said.

"Ho, good sir," he says to the peasant behind the counter, "A seven piece bucket of grilled sphinx wings. I'm here to celebrate."

"Yessir."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm celebrating, knave?"

"Yessir. What are you celebrating?"

"I've just slain the evil, fearsome Dragon of the Western Gorge, and I've just rescued the fair lady Elsbeth."

"Good show, sir."

"Yes. I think rather. Well, where are my sphinx wings, boy."

"Coming right up, sir."

So he picks up his Bucket o' Wings and trots over to the hitching post next to mine. He reigns in his steed and looks over at me.

"Keep that brutish animal of yours away from me, oaf."

Now, I ain't one to take this kind of talk lying down, but I wasn't. I was sitting, and, anyway, this guy had a sword, you know? A sword and a lance, and I don't like going up against no sword and lance with nothing but my hands. I mumbled some apologies and went on eating my wings, though I couldn't really see what his basic problem was.

The virgin's sitting in front of him, butt to groin (quite ominous, if you ask me. Going to be a king waiting up late tonight, if you know what I mean. This girl ain't going to have to worry about dragons ever again.) and looking at him with one of those expressions that just makes you want to puke. He bites off a bite piece of sphinx wings and swallows it while she looks at him as if that was the greatest things that she had seen in her entire life, which I'm sure it wasn't, although, with virgin princesses being what they are nowadays, it's kind of hard to tell.

Anyway, there I was trying hard not to pay any attention to this punk and his dame, while he seemed to be working hard at making my night miserable.

"Hey, peasant dog."

I ignored him until I felt the cuff to the side of my head. I ain't no peasant, and I ain't no dog. But the slap got my attention.

"What?"

"Milady requests a large Coke. Please fetch it for her."

"Hey, fetch it yourself, buddy."

"Such impudence will get you only more punishment, boy. Do as I say!"

"Look, buddy. Let's get something clear here, okay? I ain't no peasant. I'm a freeman and not bound to anyone. Also, I ain't going to take no punishment from some punk what thinks he's bad just because he dresses up like a peacock and kills some lizard. Your dragon didn't even breathe fire, you know. He wasn't harming anyone and, quite frankly, if your little tramp managed to get herself caught by him she's even dumber than she looks. So, why don't you just go get `milady' a Coke yourself, okay." I'm kind of steaming at this point. Little punk.

"That, knave, is the last straw. You will do as I say. My father is Count Faithvok, and he has the power to destroy you." Livid with rage, the little wanna-be whips off his glove and throws it on the ground.

So, I get off my mule and bend down and pick it up.

"What was that for?"

"I throw the gauntlet at you."

"You missed, you idiot."

"You'll pay, knavish dog." The knight whispers something in the princess's ear. She smiles then gets off the horse. I'm backing away, looking kind of wary now, because I know something's up, but I don't know what.

When the chick's safely off the horse, daintily holding her skirts up out of the mud, the knight swings around towards me, pulling out his lance. "Dog. I claim the right to challenge you. A duel to the death!"

"Naw. I ain't gonna kill you." Stupid punk. He's wearing seventy pounds of armor and he thinks he can still fight for beans.

Now he's leveling his lance at me and I'm starting to think, hey, maybe this ain't such a good idea after all. Suddenly, his horse is leaping forwards towards me. I dive out of the way, towards a group of peasants checking out the action.

The punk reigns in his horse and turns back towards me. "Surrender, dog, or it will go hard on you."

I'm thinking, yeah, right, like it ain't gonna go hard on me if I surrender. I've heard of this Count's dungeon, and I don't like thumb screws, dammit.

Then I get an idea. I pull a staff out the hands of one of the on-looking peasants.

"Look," I says. "I told you once before, but you obviously are either dumb or stupid, so listen up. I ain't impressed by you or your joke of a daddy. You ain't no hotshot warrior like you think you are. So calm down, and maybe nobody gets hurt."

He frowns, then, with a yell that's supposed to be horrifying, but doesn't quite work, 'cause his voice cracks halfway through, he goads his horse towards me again.

I'm standing calmly, the staff loose in my hands as eighteen hundred pounds of horse flesh and steel bear down on me. Then, just as it looks like I'm gonna get a lance through my belly, I sidestep. A lance only works if you're stupid enough to stand on the side of the horse where it's fixed. I moved, and so was safe. Not so for the knight.

I thrust my staff in between the horse's legs and was rewarded with a squeal as horse and rider tumbled into the mud.

I handed the staff back to its owner with a "Thanks." He took it and was looking at it as if I had just handed him a live snake as I walked back over to my mule. And who do you thinks standing there? The chick.

"It looks," she said, "as if I need a ride back to my castle. Going my way?"

I look her up and down. Her robe's got a little bit of mud on it and she ain't looking quite so prissy as before. Besides, when she stands like that, you can kind of make out some serious curves under that white dress.

"Okay," I said. "Sure, I can head that way. Get on."

My little mule ain't much, but he's stable and he'll get us there, eventually. Besides, he'll wait patiently while we take a little detour, if you know what I mean. Them curves were making me a little bit curious, and, besides, I wouldn't want her to get captured by no dragon again.

Get the picture? Good. Then I'll leave it at that, except to say this: a nice set of armor does not a warrior make.

the intense pain of the toes makes my ignorance seem less sordid

I got a few tasks for you.

Drop a couple piclkles by a lake and face a camcorder towards the lake and record overnight and see if any elementals will take the pickles. Nightvision camcorders would be good.

Or plant a few FRESH roses in your backyard and put a camcorder by your sliding back door or window and let it record overnight what you are looking for is fairies dancing in the roses.

If i had a camcorder I would do both of these but I cant aford one.

i am serious this is not a joke.

Dont forget to cover any led lights with black tape.

What the fuck are you still reading for? jump right in and start the mutual mental masturbation ahorita, Seņor Molino!