Fatty Langtry: Pudgy Preaching Pugilist (with pictorial aid!

[Hoshiko]

For those of you who want to skip along, I give you my conclusion first, the Hoshi Trinity Revisited -



Yes, those are chopsticks. I suppose I'd better start at the beginning.

Well, first there was a craving for cookies, Russian Tea Cakes, to be exact. You don't actually eat them, you throw them at people and try to hit their pressure points. It's a bit like acupunctural curling, but honest work, baker's work, with the same meaty forearms but looking cleaner dusted with flour and vanilla in the air. Light smooth wooden rolling pins that shift with each revolution of the dough, possibilities.

And then there was Islam, yes, that Islam, and the once again clean scent, white cloth and high morals. No pork, looking a whole lot like my house on a Thursday when I do my laundry and cover myself with pillow cases like some sort of human clothesline until they cool down from the dryer. Love. Yellow light and laundry baskets with holes that everyone on earth (I don't care who you are) climbed into as a child and tried to race like they were supposed to magically sprout wheels or sled dogs. Society today: grimy floor, meat-like deposits in the intestines, empty wallet, survivor with flashing lights, broken bottles in fields deserted for years, bad shrimp. Religion: fabric softener and sniffing. The choice was clear.

Or not, because which to choose? I'm a good candidate, not too many vices and I love large echo buildings with statues. Knowledge, individual worth, respect for the human condition, all very good goals but I have problems: I don't like to believe in stuff. That whole pesky acknowledgement of something as fact, forever. That whole deity sitting patiently while I catch up with uncomfortable questions. Or worse, the endless impatience of hour upon hour spent quiet and searching my inner self, forcing my brain open with no provocation so that I can look and grasp at hypothetical connective straws. Even worse, and say it along with me folks, that whole other people believing the exact same thing thing, no deviation. Snoozefest.

So I've decided to create my own, and this is for you people who blink a lot, more than people should. It's for people who like the idea of digging tunnels underground but are too lazy, for grass sitters, for people who save empty bottles and don't know why, for people who like to open and close clasps over and over again. For those who find great meaning in a line drawn on newspaper. Pen clickers, rock sliders, authority runners, pot smokers, listen close, because I'm about to introduce to you Tommy "Fatty" Langtry, the Pudgy Preaching Pugilist.

Fatty was just an ordinary guy. He worked in a restaurant and swore a lot. He probably drank more than most people should. Fatty had one distinguishing characteristic, though. Although Fatty was a large man, and we're talking when he sat around the house he really sat AROUND the house, you know, although he was a fluffy, Fatty could knock a man down faster than Hoshiko sighting the post-it notes aisle (and that is no exaggeration, I'm thinking about getting help).

Tommy ultimately decided that God gave him a gift and he was going to use it to make so much money that he could be flush with stovies and beer for the rest of his life. How basely materialistic. So he traveled, knocking quite a few people out along the way using uncomfortable gloves and a sideways cracking turn of the head that always disoriented. He couldn't lose. No sooner would he punch the metaphorical stuffing out of one guy than another guy would be there to take the first guy's place, eyes dumb with the sound of the crowd, sitting stupid ducks. And Fatty, on tiptoes and lithe quick vicious, would swing once, twice, and the other man would go over hard (maybe groping for a rope a bit with his left hand, just to save face). Slaps on the back, women swooning, and our hero sitting there sweating, loving the attention. Then one day Fatty had an extra beating of the heart that startled, or he saw one face in the crowd contorted grotesque, or his back was not what it used to be and he started missing the heavy scent of a grease-sopped wood floor. Maybe he got tired of being exploited for what was, in the grand scheme of things, not too much money after taxes and expenses. Got tired of being a commodity. Despite the reason let's just say that he stopped, and he stood and said he would fight no more forever (quite literally) and he walked away out of the spotlight and into the alley, home on his mind and $500 in 20's down his shorts.



Now before you scoff and doubt the point of this endless story, let me just say that Fatty did exist, and you're looking at him above. Yes, feast your eyes on the hero of our tale, the Preaching Pugilist. Not only have I dug up a graven image for you all to worship and liken unto a god, but Fatty himself has agreed to come back from the dead for a limited series of speaking arrangements and teach us all the secrets he learned on this side and the next. He's doing this as a special favor to me, and all he asks is a little bit of cash for a stovie and your soul in increments. For a religion, it's a pretty good deal.

So go ahead Mr. Langtry and take your rightful seat up there on the stage, while I pass this collection tray around a bit to get us started.



Now if you'll all please open your dictionaries please to page 352, the Kangaroo entry, we can begin.

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

That page is missing from my book.

[Hoshiko]

Then you're in luck! For as little as $35.99 we can send you our newest version of the Oxford English Dictionary, complete with illustrations and containing the latest in indexing technology for the discerning scholar. If you order now we'll even throw in our Complete Thesaurus, jam-packed with over 500 pages filled with easy-read text, developed to make your psalm writing experience a breeze.

And that's not all! If you order within the next 10 minutes we'll even throw in our patented Egyptian Spiritual Crystal of Doom, which has been said from the ancient times to cure all minor aches and pains by harvesting light energy and depositing it straight into your trachea. The chain is gold-plated and uses magnetics to give you the energy you need.

But supplies are limited, so please hurry.

Your results may vary with Egyptian Crystal of Doom. Crystal is not meant to take the place of medical intervention. Buyer must pay $7.99 chipping and handling. Residents in CA, VA, FL, AZ, RI, NY, ND, ID must pay a 10% tax surcharge.

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

Satisfaction garaunteed?

[Hoshiko]

Your results may vary

But there will be a buffet afterwards. And then we're all gonna shake tambourines.

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

I will have to consult with my attorney.

[Hoshiko]

Without going out of your door, you can know all things on earth.

Alright, we'll make it $30.99 and I'll throw in one of those Igia microdermabrasion kits.

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

Your offer is very tempting, however after consulting with my lawyer I am $6,017.24 in debt and cannot afford the book.

Do you accept sex slaves as currency?

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

Ok, it's not technically a sex slave, it's more of a semen encrusted sock...


But it has a reinforced toe and the elastic is still good!

[Hoshiko]

Are we talking dress sock or more of a plain white athletic deal? Calve length or ankle? (oh, the joke possibilities!)

I wouldn't trust this lawyer as I suspect that he accepts semen sock payments.

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

He doesn't, which is why I am in the hole (HA! INNUENDO!)

It's a mid-calf dress sock, black.

[Hoshiko]

Well when you put it THAT way...

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

Hell yeah! Meet me by the old oak tree in the park.

[Hoshiko]

Bring your Magic: The Gathering cards!

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

d00d im gonna pwn u so hard w my level 50 goblin circle jerk of doom!!!1