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4:10 pm | 01 June 2004 | Puff, The Tragic Motherfucking Dragon

Hey! Hey! Were you, kind citizen, perhaps wondering why the rivers and tides seem so low? Why the water's lapping a good foot under where it had a scant two days ago? Why, in formerly-shallow ponds, the bare, sucking mud bottom is now littered with dead and/or dying* fish? Why are island peoples totally freaking as, like, thousands of square acres of beachy-islandy-whatever heave up from the sea like Ginger Spice's boobie during that ill-fated meeting with the Queen Mum? Why? For the love of a grandpa-lookin' God WHERE'S ALL THE WATER GONE?!?!?!!!

Oh, kids. It's gone because I am retaining it. Yes indoodly. This morning I woke up, stumbled globulously to the bathroom sounding like a waterbed being used as a trampoline by six or seven severely obese kids, and peered into the mirror, poking at my ponderous under-eye bags the way you might poke at a beached jellyfish with a stick. 'Cept my finger wasn't sticklike in the least. No. Unless we are talking FISH STICK, or perhaps CHEESE LOG.

It is so effing gross to feel this way. Plus I randomly became one of those deceptively athletic-looking (emphasis on "looking") people who haul around plastic flasks of water and constantly haul on them like camels at the world's last oasis, but so now everytime i take a huge life-affirming swig i am thinking about how the water is going to delicately filter through my cells and explosively swell me outwards, as though i were one of those foam farm animals in the gelatin caplet that you drop in the warm water and watch expand. These explanations are getting too long. I AM PUFFY AND HATEFUL. I feel like some aquatic version of a Macy's Day Parade floaty thing, only...uh...NOT FLOATING. Like the Hindenberg filled with Jell-O! Like a tapioca sandbag! A Nutella-balloon! Fuckin'...uh...a bean bag of cow's innards! BAG OF INNARDS! clm.

This message paid for by the Council of Angry Menstruelles Trying Vainly to Educate You, The People, About How Sucky All This Blood-Clumping Hoo-Ha Can Be, While Somehow Retaining A Fierce Pride in Its Existence. Gross! Triumphant!

*Hee. I saw this Man-On-The-Street interview once during a "polluted lake report" or whatever, and this real screaming yokel type was like "Thur wuz fish that wuz dead, 'n' then thur wuz fish that wuz dying, 'n' thun thur wuz that wuz...dizorriennened" and it was, apropos of very little, just about the funniest. Thing. EVER.

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