Edited by Doktur Alfreodor Zzyzx

Archaeological Discovery Baffles Egghead Authorities
                by Leonardo de Gravulga
Scientific reputations often depend on a slim chain of evidence gleaned from sources widely dispersed across the
linguistic spectrum. Articles written in obscure foreign periodicals or journals may take years—even decades—to
reach other specialists in a given field. Language barriers can prove to be formidable obstacles to the transmission
of knowledge. Consider the image here to the left. Copied from a 2nd century A.D. shard of a Moche Portrait
Ceramic, we now know this is the graven image of Potcha-Hu-Ka, God of fertility and vegetation for numerous

communities living on the coastal plain of Northern Peru between the years 100 to 800 A.D.

The ceramic
vessel was part of a large collection of objects recently unearthed in a burial mound near the Huaca
del Sol, the largest Moche temple on the coast, constructed with over 1,000,000 adobe bricks by an estimated one
hundred communities who contributed materials for the project. Potcha-Hu-Ka was apparently especially revered
because he was the spiritual leader of the Moche Dog People, a little known and essentially backward community,
who dwelt at higher elevations where cultivation of potatoes was required.

The word ‘pot’ may have been derived from this ancient deity due to the fact that he is said to have introduced the
cultivation of Cannabis Sativa to the local economy. To consider the next image, we must jump forward in time to
the Incan Period. Clearly, Potcha-Hu-Ka must have been the feral predecessor of the Incan deity, Kai-ka-Hu-Ka,
the god of voyeurism, violence and orgiastic fertility, because the resemblance is so obviously striking.
These
things we are fairly certain about, due to the painstaking work of numerous anthropologists and scholars in the
west. Now, however, comes the hard part.

Little publicized excavations conducted in the 1930’s in the Anza Borrego Desert by an international team of
Uighur Chinese anthropologists culminated in the discovery of the rock painting you see below. Found deep within
a previously sealed cave dubbed “The Lair of Phantom and Chimera,” in Smuggler Canyon, this stunning artifact,
viewed sideways, was never revealed to the American public at large. Instead, the cunning Uighurs (pronounced
‘we gers’) slunk off back to the University of Sinkiang, where they kept the secret ever since.  “So what?” you
ask. “It looks like boiled squid.”  I am inclined to agree, but Erica Von Duncical, the eminent Cultural
Anthropologist at EUCLA (Even U Can Learn Art), is willing to violently disagree.

According to Erica, this image is derived, beyond the shadow of a doubt, from the Potcha-Hu-Ka and Kai-Ka-Hu-
Ka images you see above.  In her considered opinion, if you scramble an egg, it’s still an egg, no matter what you
do with it after that.  In effect, she hypothesizes that ‘mnemonic drift,’ the tendency for successive generations to
drop unnecessary details off the cliff of time, explains why the effects in all three images don’t offer a perfect
match. Nevertheless, the third image is clearly of Peruvian descent. Now comes the mystery. Who was
responsible for the thing in the cave? And what is an ancient Moche fertility figure doing in the southwest desert?

Doctor Chang E. Ching, Uighur Professor of North American Antiquities, published the earliest scholarly opinion
in the 1930’s in the “Chungking Journal of Abstruse Anomalies” (only recently translated into English). According
to Dr. Ching, there is little reason to suspect that the paint wasn’t genuine. Chemical analysis of the pigments left
little doubt about that; it was composed entirely of natural dyes, and all ingredients were available in the local area.
No trace of synthesized chemicals was found. Furthermore, in his opinion, all stylistic elements were consistent
with sacred ‘primitive’ art. Yet there remained no way to explain [at the time of his writing] who put it there or
why. Over the years since Doctor Ching, a number of vague suppositions and hypotheses have been advanced to

explain the enigma.

But more recent evidence suggests that early 20th century Peruvian based drug dealers may have had a hand in its
manufacture. Whatever the case may be, you can be sure that it will be of interest to us here at
JPMD.                    
Chapter Ten: The Kink of InKa DinKa Doti
It must be emphasized that Chings, Chins, Chinks, and Snouts did not
exist in isolation, unaware of the existence of ‘others.’  Interbreeding
did occur.  Any cross between a Ching or Chin with a Snout was
likely to yield a ‘mongrel,’ a snout with the hint of a chin. Mongrels
who bred together gave birth to ‘Red Mongols,’ who became, as you
know, the source for most of the world’s dog people. Also, during
this lengthy and complicated span of development, there were some
dead ends, now known as the ‘false Chins’ or ‘Chaps.’ But they
were
largely restricted to small insignificant Pacific islands.

There is, therefore, simply no convincing evidence of any kind that
would allow for even a dim understanding of why the ancients were
so fond of themselves.  By modern standards they were so retarded,
so stupid and so utterly incapacitated by greed, avarice, and lust as to
challenge the social imagination of the bravest interlocutor to suggest
otherwise.
From the Oft-quoted Ligatures of Meldrick the Regurgitator
Universal Pity Diaries: Chapter One, “Man vs. Intelligent Design?”

The Date:        July 15, 6258 EGAD
The Place:        Babalopolis District Regional Secretariat, Amerindo sub-Continent
The Time:        During his obligatory morning expostulations…
Interface:        Pre-dynamic English on tape
For at least the last two hundred years, scholars around the globe have questioned a belief held widely in the past which has baffled the best and the
brightest minds of our time. Why were the ancients convinced that mankind represented an epiphany of intelligent design? Given the state of our
present knowledge, this path of investigation appears to be bluntly irrelevant.  But--just what could the old ones have been thinking? It goes without
saying that the present age suffers from a tragic social condition: the loss of any significant body of information with respect to its ontological
roots. How did we get to what we have come to be now?  Apparently almost nobody has a clue.  It’s understandable, of course, when you
consider the contiguous series of disasters the planet has experienced over the last 3500 years. I refer, as you are well aware, to the carbon wars
of the 21st century, the long chain of environmental catastrophes associated with global warming, the prodigious waste of resources consumed
during the metastasis phase of the corporate megalopolies, the collective and immediate destruction of cities and the long term inundations of
farmland, crops and continental geography due to a score of Titanic world wide Tsunamis etc. Today, therefore, we shall concern ourselves with a
recapitulation of the residuum of fact available to an inquiring intellect concerned with the salvage of such matters as now seem fairly obvious.
Let us direct, then, our most sensitive antennae backwards towards the far, far
distant past, to a time some 250,000 years or so ago, when the first ‘homo-
nids’ were gamboling about below the trees.  Here is what we know.  Your
basic ‘homo’ was about as intelligent as a ‘nid,’ meaning pretty frigging dumb
by modern standards (hence the term ‘homo-nids.’ [Editor’s note; a nid is a
small fly.]  Able to slouch about but not without dragging his knuckles through
the muck, your basic homo was short, squat, ugly and stupid in that order of
importance.  What he did have going for him was the beginning of a ‘mugg’ and
an ‘id.’  Now, a mugg was a type of cranial capsule of durable bone which was
designed to protect the stem of a primitive brain. The stem actually grew up into
the mugg after birth, where it formed itself into a shallow pan, hence the
term
'brain pan.' The stem was connected to the back bone, connected to the
pelvic bone, the thigh bone and so forth down to the foot bones and the toes.
Fig. i   Proto nit shows a homo-nid how to throw a stone.
An ‘id,’ however, was a cranial characteristic of an entirely different order of resistance. In essence, an id was
designed to gloss over or conceal the cruel realities of experience, while storing them for use at some grisly point in
the future.  It is suspected that the ‘id’ also led eventually to the capacity to dream about lots and lots of sexual
activity, thus giving rise to the importance of reproduction.   That was about it for tens of thousands of years.
Then came the first true humanity, the ‘homo-nit.’  Since they had developed a modest level of intelligence due to a
preoccupation with tool making, they were classified as ‘nit-wits.’  [The derivation of this term is at present
inconclusive.]  A work-up of 'Lucy,' the prototype for all nit-wits to follow, can be seen here with her mugg
exposed in a frontal display.  There is little doubt that she has an 'id' because, as you can see, her 'attitude' is "Now
that you see me, you can kiss my ass!"  
More thousands of years passed. Finally, there occurred a surprising chain of events that would
revolutionize evolution forever. The ‘nits’ split into two separate branches of humanity, the
‘Chings’ and the ‘Snouts.’  (Let us ignore the ‘Snouts’ for the present while we concentrate on the
‘Chings.’)  What is important here is that the ‘Chings’ somehow invented the notion of ‘self.’
{Hence the explanation for the “I Ching”}.  No matter how dull or dense a Ching was said to be, he
at least knew who and what he was, to some degree.  And this proved to be a significant step
forward. Now comes the good part.  Once a Ching could recognize himself, he was well on his

way to becomming a 'chin' as opposed to a 'snout.' This distinction can hardly be overemphasized
because the ‘Chins’ were the first homos who could actually speak (sort of), while the ‘snouts’
remained at the stage of barks, grunts and squeaks, still moving forward on all fours. More
thousands of years passed. Skulls and bone fragments of early homos establish that a gradual
separation of these two stocks—Chins and Snouts—took place over the next 20,000 years during
which, it is hypothesized, the ‘snouts’ ever so slowly acquired the capacity to communicate as
well, although it is not clear whether the two groups ever actually spoke the same language.
Fig. iii:     "The Ching of Sinkiang"
Fig iv:  Snout skulls [top row] vs. Chin skulls [bottom row]  from "Pottie's Primer on Primitives"
Fig. ii  The 'nit-wit' Lucy
The famous fossilized Van Nuys Snout
Ugh 'oad, the first true Ch-ink,
a reconstruction from a fossil
skull taken from a tar pit near
Sinkiang, China, in 1922
At about this point in time, it appears to be the case that the ‘Chins’ suddenly
discovered ‘ink,’ that is to say, they entered the first stage of a lengthy process in
which they gradually perfected the capacity to record their thoughts,  now referred
to as the ‘Ch-inks Stage.’ Although the Chink’s simple ideas were recordable, they
tended to be represented on the level of signs or pictures rather than in phrases or
sentences. Notice the glyph you see here.
A sign for a man set beside a sign for a woman suggests the notion of ‘a couple,’ or two mates in a marriage.
For obvious reasons, this type of writing is typically referred to as ‘ideo-graphic,’ meaning ‘written by idiots.’
A chin crossed with a snout or
possibly a ch-ink
Continue
Adjunct Archive of the Eucalyptic Brotherhood
Subject:          
gratitude and more
Thursday, September 17, 2009, 12:24 PM

Dear Ike:

Please express my utmost appreciation to Mr. Snipe Gas-Swipe for providing an update on the activities of my colleagues in the Sanitarium.  He is
truly a credit to quidnuncs everywhere.  Nothing pleases me more than to know the doings of my fellow demented loonies and bedlamites.  I did
note, however, that there was no new information on Little Brother Homonym, perhaps my favorite and most revered indweller.  Since he is only
27 inches tall and wears nothing but a rudely woven robe (fashioned entirely from pubic hair he has gleaned from public bathrooms) he does tend
to blend in with the general decor of your establishment and  go somewhat unnoticed.  I am wondering if he is still functioning in his typical
noisome but productive manner.  I am especially interested in whether he continues to speak solely in homonyms and what progress he has made
in his efforts to utilize his homolosine projective technique in expanding the homoousian doctrine to establish homophonic spiritual purity and save
the world from simps, pinheads and organized religion.

Dotty
Excerpts from the SD 109 Archive,
Re: 2009 M-Ward Surveillance Report for the Month of August
prepared by Snipe Gas-swipe, Archival Librarian

The patient
Inka Dinkie Doti (sometimes referred to as the Kink of Red Ink by his associates) has requested in triplicate (yet again) that we
supply him with twice the standard issue of water based acrylic paint, brushes, canvas and so forth which are made available to those
with access
to the studiettes provided under the auspices of the SD 109 Project.  As you know, Dinkie is often agitated, and given to complain that he is being
‘persecuted by his jailers’ due to his suspicion that the purity of the food distributed in his ward has somehow been tainted with industrial
chemicals and sexual stimulants.  Passers-by are often pelted with ‘the slop’ (his exuded ration) as he refers to it when he is experiencing one of
his frequent ‘spells’ and it is the opinion of the M-Ward staff that his insidious fecal despoliations of the adjacent hallway would be reduced were
he to be distracted by a harmless exposure to these additional artsy fartsy supplies.  His delusion (that he is the reincarnation of Odd Jim Dotty)
may well be reinforced by the approval of this proposal, but the janitorial staff is reluctant to ‘give a shit’ unless we take steps to attempt to
mitigate the carnage.

The Grand Pupae,
Leonardo de Gravulga, is again showing signs that his ‘papillatious membrane’ is undergoing metamorphosis. He is now
allowing his ‘butterfly personality’ to dominate his ‘cricket mannerisms’, and there are some who suspect we are all about to be exposed to another
severe episode of the Brown Banded Cockroach Caper. (He scuttles around the floor on all fours lapping up skittles which he avows have been
discharged through his papillatious membrane prior to the splitting of his pupae.) Our attempt to terminate this behavior by the mock spraying of
his cell floor in his presence with a faux bug spray has had absolutely no effect whatsoever. His constant humming (like a bee) and arm flapping (i.
e. pumping fluid into his butterfly wings) suggest it won’t be long before he makes another attempt to “float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.”  
God help us all if this disturbing behavioral episode cannot somehow be avoided.

The Encyclopedist
Woton, as usual, remains in a self-induced coma for most of the day and generally arises cackling to himself for most of the
evening while he catches up on his reading. His email in box is typically stuffed to the limit (200 messages daily) making him the primary recipient
of messages throughout the ward. So far as we can ascertain, he rarely replies to any of his correspondents with anything other than a curious
concoction of codes and ciphers, the meanings of which remain elusive (both to us and others) as of this writing. The large writing tablet strapped
to his crib is typically filled each day with this cryptic scribbling in spite of his daytime immobility. Video recordings of his cell reveal that his left
hand hovers occasionally over this tablet even during his ‘coma,’ while he jots down clandestine messages like some programmable robotic
simulacrum.

Meldrick the Regurgitator continues to spend long hours at his computer console typing out one mystifying description after another while he
pretends to be annoyed with the index finger of his right hand.  His ‘conversations with Rex Dige-texas’ (his name for that finger) grow ever more
sarcastic with vitriolic contempt. During these sessions, typing with his left hand only, he appears to be engaged in an extreme philosophical
discussion with his finger, which he shakes and wiggles before his face in an array of obscene and hostile gestures. Occasionally he has been
spotted even inserting it into his mouth, sucking on it and growling, and emitting other loud slurping and lewdly disgusting sounds. He persists as
well in insisting the real year is 6257 AD and that he is engaged in a messianic endeavor, his life’s work, the reconstruction of the history of the
‘goner years’ when civilization was destroyed by the political morons responsible for the age of coal, oil, TV, and the internal combustion engine.
His “toilet atrocities” as he refers to them--especially the burping, farting and gargling—remain as constant as the typing, while he cackles and
chuckles to himself with almost mythical abandon.  Unfortunately, the condition of his crotch rash is chronic due to his constant scratching, the
pulling on his gonads, and the flogging of his penis whenever one of the nurses on the ward makes an appearance. Furthermore, lately he will not
allow anyone into his cubicle for any reason without a scuffle, and the ward personnel were instructed to strap him down before any hygienic
procedure such as a haircut is administered…       

Sid the Spider is repeatedly demanding to see ‘his lawyer’ although, as you know, he specifically is not to be allowed visitors, without exception,
according to his court appointed probation officer. Well known for his enormous drug habit, The Spider has sought to bribe anyone available in an
attempt to acquire a viable drug stash and recently tried to post a $2000 reward on a site for internet drug sales for anyone who could smuggle him
some purified acid. Sid continues to maintain, in his most menacing voice, that his ‘lawyer’ negotiated with the district attorney during the plea
bargaining one condition only: that Sid was to receive his nightly small glass of milk served with two marijuana-laced chocolate chip cookies.
Otherwise, he spins around every night until he can’t stand up, and falls into his bunk in the last stages of exhaustion….       

Ka-Ike (aka The Kike, The Kink, The Fink of Ink etc.) remains temporarily absorbed in his abominable memoir concerning the phenomenological
effects of a pelagic preoccupation with all brown objects in flux.  In “The Flux Treatise of Ike:  Memoirs of a Wanton,” he describes his early
preoccupation with turds, which led him ultimately (according to Ike) to examine all aspects of his early toilet training as well as episodes of diaper
rash, including the texture and composition of his most memorable bowel movements, in order to grasp fully how these experiences colored and
influenced a budding adolescent sexual drive.  No amount of extraneous drivel would suffice to capture the arcane details with which he is
obsessed daily, so no more will be said about his present state of mind here. Suffice to say he remains as rattled and rank a specimen as anyone on
the ward has ever encountered, still whacking off two to three times a day, usually directly in front of the surveillance camera which he pretends
not to notice.  Attached is a sample of the manuscript he submitted for inclusion in his ‘personal file.’

               Episode from “Aspects of a Juvenile Wanton”

A Brief Flick in my Reflections on Flux

I remember the “incident” well, even though I was only seven years old at the time.  My parents were traveling north to Redding, California, for
some reason and had stopped to spend a day in San Francisco at the zoo.  It was late in the fall and the weather was turning chill. A foggy mist
hung in the air that morning. The sky was overcast, the zoo quiet and still with few people on the walkways or gently undulating trails. I had gone
ahead of my father, mother and brother who had stopped to observe the elephants.  Topping a slight bump in the asphalt trail that led through the
pachyderm cordons, I could see a crowd had gathered in front of a railing surrounding the Rhinoceros den.  There must have been close to 200
people or so all laughing and pointing at the rump end of a huge Rhino standing just beyond the deep moat separating its den from the rail. Curious,
I walked forward to get a better look and stopped about 50 feet from the crowd.  I could see that something, some kind of fluid, had run down the
hind quarters of the Rhino whose armored rump was also spattered with a glistening stain. What happened next took place so suddenly that it was
as impossible to anticipate as to avoid.

The Rhino’s short muscular tail began to flick left and right with blinding speed.  Then, its backside hunched forward and back spasmodically as
an incredibly long stream of dung spurted out with such force that it shot up and over the moat and onto the crowd.  All the while that muscular
tail was whipped to the left and right, spreading the stream like shit hitting the blades of an electric fan.  Caught by the suddenness of this
malodorous event, most in the crowd were thoroughly drenched with gooby spatters of runny shit.  Shit on their faces, hair, clothing—shit was
literally everywhere. Those in the front were simply dripping with shit as well as standing in it.  No one it seemed had escaped unscathed, not the
old, the young, the strong, the weak whatever.  And, after the initial shock had passed, they began--almost without exception—to laugh…To this
day, I cannot say whose behavior surprised me the most: whether it be the spectacular performance of the Rhino or that spontaneous reaction of
the crowd.

Those visitors who happened upon the scene shortly after the incident were generally horrified by what they saw:  a crowd of strangely agitated
people of all ages, sexes, races, covered in nasty brown crud, all laughing and gesturing to one another in what appeared to be a condition of
stupefied wonder.  For a long time after that—if you can forgive my childish blunder—I suspected that if there was a God, he must have bestowed
upon his creation an unequivocally odd sense of humor!                 
By Dell (the Swell) Dickie

Gretta Von Holstein Zuckerman, spokesperson for the Sea and Sage Audubon Society, announced today the
sighting of a rare bird, the Tufted Dottie Cackler, once thought to be extinct.  Long time resident of the area, Gina
Lala Labovich, bird fancier extraordinaire, was apparently ambling down the Riparian Trail along Coyote Creek in
Irvine (not the drainage ditch) when she spotted the little bugger perched on a stump between the trail and the
creek. A member of the Grackle Family, the Dottie Cackler was once a prominent member of the local avian
community, inhabiting the creek-side brush from the foothills of the Cleveland National Forest to the Back Bay
estuary in Newport Beach.  Several species of the Cackler were identified around the turn of the century by Ollie
Joe
Pottie, whose drawings are presented here.  Related to the Tufted Cackler, the Predatory Cackler preyed on
small grasshoppers, stink bugs, and other insect pests which once abounded in the underbrush all along the
wetlands. Known for its howling cackle, the Predatory Cackler was hunted to extermination in the 1950s by boys
with BB guns because their parents were sick and tired of the loud early morning cackles the pesky varmint emitted
after it had devoured some juicy bug along the way.

The Crenellated Cackler (sometimes referred to as the Buzzard Cackler) was also a frequent visitor to the area.  
Drawn exclusively to injured prey, this Cackler was known to prefer road kill to bugs and seeds, and even raided
the nests of its relatives to dine on young when the parents were away.  The call of this particularly nasty critter
(its
droppings were always blood-red and stunk to high heaven) was said to be a cross between a piercing chirp
and a hoot. The Buzzard Cackler, according to Ollie Joe, was also prone to evacuate its bowels in flight, a practice
which many an Orange County housewife hanging laundry outside came to resent with malicious intent, leading
some to suspect its extinction was somehow BB gun related as well.  Cacklers represent
an ancient lineage. Cackler
remains have been found as far back as the Pleistocene Era where where they swooped down upon prey prowling
about the grasslands of early California.



Dottie  Cackler (Tufted)
Predatory Cackler
Crenellated Buzzard Cackler
Addlepated Cackler
Sent: Thursday, July 9, 2009 12:51:12 PM                                                                                                           FartsyMailroom01
Subject: Seek help in identification of recent finds

TO:        Editor, Artsy Fartsy
FROM:    Anonymous handicapped person

I work in the As-Is yard of the Van Nuys Goodwill store.  I found stuff and my boss said you might know something about it.  He said might
be worth five dollars or even more.  My boss said he thinks it may be early scribbles of crazy man named Odd Jim Dottie.  Said it looks like
ball point and Odd Jim Dotty had pen name called Ball Point.  I send what I found to you and you let me know if this stuff worth much.  
Response Forwarded on Friday, July 10, 2009, 10:30 AM

Dear Sir?   (Has your boss given you a name tag yet?)

We have examined the photos of stuff you found and are unable to say at this time if there is any reason for you to hope for monetary
recompense (cash money) given the absence of any evidence to suggest who the, ah, actual artist, ah, was.  Without seeing the scribblings
themselves, rather than the blurry photos stained with chewing tobacco you sent, we are reluctant to commit any resources to the
investigation.  We might go as high as .25 cents each for the whole lot, just so we could replenish the rags for our toiletries, but even that
offer is contingent upon a hands on examination of the real stuff.  Nevertheless there is an item or two we believe may offer potential for
other of our non-commercial needs. Against our better judgment, we would, say, go as high as perhaps $1.25  apiece for the rights to
"Waiting for the Muse" and "I Like Spice";  while "Still Life" and "Empty Head" would garner considerably less, say $.75 cents each, sight
unseen.  If any part of this offer meets with your approval, please call upon us at your convenience, since our offices are just up the street
from yours...

Yours truly,
AKA Khan, Executive Editor Artsy Fartsy





C
O
R
P
U
S

C
A
L
L
O
S
U
M
"Dance of the Syllabels in the Great Ice Cave of Ninnylandia"

By Inka Dinka Dotti (The Altiplano Antares)
Dateline: Vera Cruz
Local guano miners recently discovered the only known Olmec Head sculpted entirely out of petrified sea bird guano. Shown here
for the first time, the stinking image was apparently extracted from the base of one of the world’s largest concentrations of bird
crap ever measured in the western hemisphere. [Notice the dark hole in the background at the base of the rock face.] It is
estimated that close to 110 feet of solidified guano were deposited directly over the carving by sea birds over something like
thirteen centuries. Not surprisingly, no one at present has offered any reliable explanation for why the Olmec originally
commissioned the work or why they chose to carve in bird guano. One theory, offered by a local fisherman, suggests that the
carving represented a kind of political statement, a personal attack upon a local Olmec chieftain who stole another man’s wife
because she had “such a nice smile.” Others believe the chief thought of himself as an artist and set out to prove his skill no matter
what material was available. Whatever the case may be, a local fertilizer company has offered to purchase the offensive object and
haul it away for s-crap. Unfortunately, that may not be possible because the thing has attracted an international audience of
primitive islanders world-wide, many of whom travel thousands of miles in primitive outrigger canoes just to gawk at the sickening
sight. Go figure….
Crappy Image Attracts Hoards of Admirers
Church of the Mango Gnostics
Irvine Chapter: Hysterical Society for the Divine Sisterhood
Desk of the Archival Librarian, Lola Elana Felana
Memo to: Uncle Toddy
The Office of the Primary Novitiate, Church of the Mango
Gnostics, is delighted to inform you that you have been chosen
from a long list of candidates to fill the position of Master of the
Kundalini Postures, Posters, Photographs, and Instructional
Aides and Methodologies. And I have the honor of having been
designated by the sisters to welcome you with open arms.

As you may be aware, the person who held this important post
for the past twenty years, The Divine Sp-ike himself, has
reached that venerable age at which the sap no longer flows and
the juice has turned to a mere trickle of sour wine. His
retirement, which alas, has come at last (no pun intended) was
the precipitating event which caused him to put your name
forward for this post, which concerns the most intimate of
relationships with the sisterhood. As such, your responsibilities
will be manifold, both with respect to instruction, testing,
counseling, guidance, personal training, and didactic and tactile
evaluation.
Because such a position of responsibility engenders vast respect among the novitiates who will voluntarily place themselves under your
mentorship, they naturally are curious to learn more about you (from every angle you can imagine) in order to facilitate a graceful
transition to your administration. Thus any photos you would care to share with the sisters before you arrive to take up residence would
be greatly appreciated.

In preparation for your investiture and the awesome apostolic responsibilities of your position, the Church of the Mango Gnostics invites
you to peruse photos from the personnel files for this year’s novitiates if you wish to select potential candidates for your private
entourage or staff. Again, may I say “welcome Uncle Toddy” and may your days with us be filled to the brim with the sweetest juice
you can imagine…  

Cordially, Elana Felana, High Priestess of the Nipples of Venus
“Blood Sucking Bat Vandalizes Toad Hall Monument in Ninnylandia”
By Licky Split and Snoop Worm
Dec. 1, 2014
Naturally, at the ripe age of 75+, we
thought we had seen it all. But it turns out
we have not, and not by a long shot.  The
storied citizens of the province of Toad
Hollow in the Kingdom of Ninnylandia
awoke this morning to discover something
downright awe-ful. One of the most revered
local icons of the historic countryside near
the River Alph had been thoroughly trashed
by an invasion of Humanoid Cave Bats.
That’s right. I said Humanoid Bats. Caught
on camera by a sleuthy amateur
photographer atop the main parapet of
Castle McNugget, which is situated
fortunately just upstream, the amazing
photos here show one of these monstrous
humanoid bats swooping low over the crags
to deliver an indescribable amount of bat
guano directly upon “The Master’s Edge”
apparently in a blatant maneuver to
deliberately deface this venerable monument.
Taken just moments before, the
full extent of the crapacious
barrage can be seen in this crude
video, as the smarmy bat sneers
at the results of his militant
offensive against the local
environment. “What’s next?” we
ask. After everything else that
has happened recently, which
we dare not at present launch
into, are we to be repeatedly
bombarded with bat crap at
every turn in the road, at every
crossing, juncture, and bend in
the river? We say, let’s hunt the
creatures down and blast them
back into the stone age caves
where the cave toads must have
fornicated with them in the first
place.  Let’s put an end to this
beginning before we have to
accept the middle ground.  It’s
the smart play, don’t you agree?
Crude Video by amateur photographer Sl-Ugh Toad, Head Croaker at McNugget Castle
Dateline: Toad Hollow, District of Ninnylandia, Northwestern Ireland                                                               December 2, 2014
Real Estate Deal Nets Aristocrat New Digs

For what amounts to chump change for him, the canny Eurocrat Baron Vladimir “The Heinous” Slicknuts has acquired the title and all
furnishings, armor, flags and appurtenances of Castle McNugget, in a real estate deal noted for its unusual properties. Previously owned by
the Church of The Mango Gnostics, under whose supervision it served as a world class shrine/bordello for the Euro jet set, the magnificent
structure will now be reserved entirely for the Baron’s private pleasure. Seen here with the twin Sisters of the Nipples of Venus, the
previous caretakers, the Baron (also known as Anus the Heinous) is acclaimed both for his penchant for high fashion attire as well as his
‘eye’ for property transactions that add value to his world wide real estate empire. Featuring a great hall, twin dining rooms, 14 opulent
suites, 22 toilets, an indoor swimming pool, a solarium, adjacent servants quarters, a subterranean pleasure grotto, and a working dungeon
complete with rack, manacles, and assorted instruments, the castle is also filled with over 700 years worth of priceless historic artifacts,
including thrones, goblets, swords, shields, cutlery, table settings, escutcheons, tapestries, and antique furniture. Rumor has it that the
Baron intends to lease out some of the suites to private speculators interested in conjugating with other guests. Situated above the north
bank of the River Alph, the castle is known for its majestic views of the surrounding countryside and is within hailing distance of Castle
Toad, another magnificent landmark nestled just downstream along the river.
Return to Table of Contents