Gooooooooo Horsey!

[Darkest Angel]

I was talking with Mr. Peabody Smythe-Bryce this weekend--you might remember him, he's the one with the militant stance against any and all body hair? Right, well, I was chatting with him this weekend when he happened to mention that his dear, youngest daughter Eliza, who was never particularly bright, had taken to searching the sand for seashells night and day. It has proven to be a rather fruitless endeavour, as we in fact live in the desert, but she perseveres nonetheless, which I think is a lesson we can all take to heart, much like prodding a tumour. In any event, I invited Peabody and Eliza to partake of a warm mug of animal lard with me anytime they so wished, but he respectfully declined, saying that he had to travel north to visit his dear wife Belinda in the sanitarium. Or was that the stadium? In any case, this message has been brought to you by my overwhelming sense of grief at having not heard from dear Bobo in so very, very long. That is all.

[Andyman]

If there were any chance that the desert was at one time, in the evolution of it's life, the sandy bottom of a sea around the time of Pangea, then I would say Eliza has indeed come full circle in her daft ways.

[Joranthalus]

This once was an ocean
Or should I say an ocean floor?
This should all be a desert
And it shall be once more.

[Moviemaniac4]

I am dizzy.....

[Drau]

I was hoping this was some insider info on the horse races....

imagine my disapointment.... [img]frown.gif[/img]

[Biomechanoid]

Yes, I've been longing for more monkey boy nonsense as well. There was the giant lobster in Pittsburgh among other news stories that have made me miss him so. Perhaps a live sacrifice to summon him again? I nominate Dr. Wiley.

[Darkest Angel]

...I come to praise Bobo, not to marry him...that would be big of me.

...did I just type that? Good heavens, you see how the all the warm lard milkshakes have addled my mind. And poor, dear Bobo, dead these twenty years. To think of it gives me pains in the chest. Or, rather, I should say...that is...more pains. In my chest. From the sorrow. And the consumption. But I digress, this really isn't about me.

...entirely.

[Joranthalus]

I've seen the worst bands of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical. I should be allowed to glue my posters.

[Dajistano]

I think our area was once covered by seas, too... before the mountains formed and everything.

And now, you can see where a river, which started as a trickle, carved out paths over thousands (millions?) of years.

[Darkest Angel]

There goes Jor, proving Sigmund Freud right again. Still, there is something to be said for hysteria, in that it allows one to plead vapors and feign loss of consciousness at the most opportune moments. Or maybe I am thinking of the effeminancy of the thing. Is that a word?

In any case, I've decided to use my nigh-unlimited resources to search the globe for Bobo, or proof of his death. Do you think seventy-seven cents and this wad of lint from my pocket will do the trick? No matter, I can always trade on my stunning looks, once the sores heal...