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Poker Night Scientifically Proven to Increase Bust Size!

Date: Thu, 12 Feb 2004 16:31:25 -0500
Subject: Poker Night Scientifically Proven to Increase Bust Size!
From: blake
To: poker-night

Gather ’round, young children, and listen to my tale.  It was long ago,
in the days when giant lizards roamed the Earth and humans were still
living on Mars in lush tropical jungles.  In the jungle called Des
Moins, in the Southern hemisphere, lived a beautiful princess named
Desdemona who had a terrible crush on one of her servant boys, whose
name was Jesus.

Desdemona’s love for Jesus was a forbidden one, for she was to marry
the prince Rupert Murdoch from the neighboring jungle of Palestine and
thereby symbolize the end of the hundred year war between the two
jungles.  Desdemona despised the war.  It just gave her seven brothers
an excuse to rape the young Palestinians, and to eat their biscuits
without asking first.  They were always a little too anxious to wage
yet another battle against the surprisingly defenseless Palestinian
Compound for Beautiful Virgins and National Biscuit Repository.  Rumor
had it the babies resulting from the constant invasions were used as
the secret ingredient in the so-called “baby biscuit” and the Royal
Family of the Jungle of Palestine thought it was terribly funny to feed
the young princes and their armies ground up bits of their own
offspring.  Desdemona was more than happy to put an end to that
foolishness.  The biscuits are delicious; she knew because Jesus had
been recruited for the 27th invasion squad two years ago and had
brought her back a dozen baby biscuits wrapped in red tissue paper tied
together with the long silky hair of a Palestinian virgin–what a
sweetie!–but the princes were invading the Compound/Repository on such
a regular basis now that they had lost interest in domestic affairs
such as leaving dead prostitutes scattered about the house to give the
media something to murmur about and slapping the aristocrats about with
leather gloves to keep them in their place.  They did still honor her
requests to have a dozen baby biscuits brought back for her after every
invasion, however.  So it seemed the proper thing to do was marry
Prince Murdoch and try her best to live happily ever after in the Giant
Jungle of Palestine Castle without her dear sweet Jesus and probably
without any more baby biscuits, unless she made her own, which was
really too much effort for a princes when you came right down to it.

The more Desdemona thought about it, the less she really cared about
Jesus, and the more concerned she was about the lack of baby biscuits
in this Brave New World of peace and supposed prosperity that was to
follow the end of the dreadful war.  “But when you get right down to
it”, though Desdemona, “just how dreadful has this war been?  It’s not
like we’ve had any casualties in the past 97 years, and if anything the
Palestinians seem to enjoy our now bi-weekly invasions of that brothel
of a Biscuit Repository.  Oh, sure, they claim to have some kind of
network of artificial satellites armed to the teeth with neutron bombs
and terawatt lasers and such, but only a fool would unleash such a
torrential down-poor of greasy doom upon such a beautiful planet.”

Now let me remind you all this fantastic story takes place not on our
own beautiful planet, which has thus far seen but a slight drizzle of
greasy doom rain upon it, but that other planet, which is now only
inhabited by robots and crazy god-like beings of pure energy who like
to play tricks on innocent children who are lost at state fairs.  Yes,
it was these incredibly powerful and absolutely insane demigods who
came to Desdemona one night, appearing to her in the form of a giant,
two headed sock puppet with a facial tick on the right face.
“Desssdemonnnnaaaahhhhhhhhh cah! Cruh! CAHH-hah!” said the apparition.

“Jesus?  Is that you?” whispered Desdemona, hoping her secret lover had
remembered to nab a fresh baby biscuit for her from the reception
honoring the princes’ latest conquest.

“WOO-oooo-WOO-oooo-WOO-wooo wup wup wup wup.  Look at me!  I’m Jesus!”
said the deranged being of incomprehensible power.  Suddenly, they were
transported to a disco hall, and Jesus was there in his bed clothes and
night cap and the music was blasting and the kids were dancing and
Desdemona found herself completely naked but pregnant with the need to
shake her royal booty and so she danced the night away and when she
woke up the next morning, after having passed out on the dance floor
after the E wore off and the amphetamines wouldn’t work anymore and the
sock puppets stopped listening to her Desdemona had the most terrible
hangover.

Desdemona ran out into the street, stark raving naked, and was shocked
to find herself smack in the middle of downtown Chicago in the late
1990s.  She gibbered on to anyone who would listen, which in the case
that you are a stark raving naked beautiful martian princess turns out
to be quite a few people, about giant sock puppets and Palestinian baby
biscuits and her beautiful jungle homeland of Des Moins.

Naturally, many of the gatherers thought she was quite mad, but then
she started to talk about Jesus, and how much he loved her, and how she
so hoped that she would see him again, especially if he had baby
biscuits with him, and everyone began listening to her intently.  It
happened to be a Sunday morning, so the mob constructed a temple for
her out of discarded refrigerator boxes and held together with ally
cats.  Suddenly the Tremendously Powerful being with Very Limited
Ability to Reason Correctly reappeared in the form of Godzilla and
stomped about the city smashing things and setting a bunch of stuff on
fire and a lot of people died, also.

Just then Desdemona realized she had been mistaken for all these years.
Her brothers had not been invading the Palestinian Biscuit Reserve to
rape, why they had been invited over to bake!  It had been her own sick
and twisted mind that had translated “invited” to “invaded” and “bake”
into “rape.”  She felt so foolish!  Why, now there was absolutely no
reason for her not to marry Jesus, the servant boy she decided she
truly did kind of like.  Stark naked in the center of her flaming
cardboard temple, surrounded by the ruined city of Chicago, Desdemona
threw her arms into the air and screamed “I LOVE YOU JESUS!  I
LOOOOVVVEEE JEEESSSUUUSSS!!!”

But Jesus was no where to be found.

And Desdemona had no idea where she was.

But she probably was at

POKERNIGHT!
tonight
at
the
Danger
House.

(of doom)

Help us find Jesus.
And bring along some booze, if you would be so kind.

first hand at nine

DangerHouse is XX XXXXXXXXX XX. #X in historically accurate Somerville,
MA.

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