If you could get a million people to give $1 each...
   
Current Total |
|
If you could get a million people to give $1 each... |
|
|
Or send $1 in cash or check to: Phillionaire P.O. Box 13291 Richmond, VA 23225 Click Here If you want to donate more than $1 |
by the Phillionaire Once or twice upon a time, there may have been two to three little girls named Goldilocks who lived with their loving, yet senile, grandmother. One day, her Grandmother, wearing only a cowboy hat and a red thong, sent Goldilocks into the woods to do some shopping. Not one to speak harshly to her Grandmother, and hopped up on reds, Goldilocks may or may not have agreed and sprinted jauntily into the woods. After either 2 or 5 hours of wandering in the woods, Goldilocks came across nearly 10 little cottages, each less beautiful than the next. Being the pushy bitch that she was, she entered the first house after jarring the door open with her shoulders. In the kitchen , she thought she saw what could only be described as a table. "My God!" she exclaimed "It's a table!" On the table, amongst the stacks of wrought iron and polished ivory, sat three to five bowls of porridge. Tasting the contents of the first bowl, Goldilocks exclaimed, "This may or may not be too hot, but I can't be sure because heat is a relative term, and I may just be cold. Or perhaps none of this is real and I am dreaming that the porridge is hot. All is going dark." Goldilocks decided that it really didn't matter if the porridge was real or not and, after huffing a can of "extra hold" hairspray, proceeded to finish off all the bowls of porridge. Feeling crampy and bloated, she wandered into the living room to look for a place to sit. When she entered the living room, she spotted an undetermined amount of chairs and immediately fell back into the largest chair. Or maybe she was small and the chair was normal sized. Or maybe she was microscopic and the chair was really really tiny and could fit on a grown man's forefinger, or maybe she was 8 ft tall and the chair was 20 ft tall. Either way, she's still a slut. "This chair may be too hard," said Goldilocks. "But unless I am directly observing this so-called chair, it may cease to exist or will exist only in a vague and amorphous state. Unfortunately, by merely being present, I will alter its reality and substance. I am weeping." Just then there was a loud sound at the front door as the approximately three bears returned home. Spying the table, Father Bear exclaimed, "The bowls of porridge are empty! Yet, if they are empty, then they are no longer bowls of porridge. They are bowls of nothingness. Their lack of porridge mocks me. I am now angered because I am being taunted by empty bowls of non-porridge. Non-bowls. Non-Porridge. It fills me with hate and rage. I'm also itchy." "Look, Father," said one of the faceless, genderless children. "There's a person with golden hair who is allegedly sitting in one or more of our chairs. If I were not stripped of all emotions, I would be captivated by her beauty. And she's got a great ass." Goldilocks sat frozen for what might have been 3-4 days, but we are unsure until the lab results are analyzed. "This can't be happening,” thought Goldilocks. "And since it can't be real, then this cottage is not real. I'm not real. I will run out of here through the non-existent walls and I will be free. Not free from racial injustice, though, just free from bears." With that, Goldilocks leapt from her chair and ran headlong in to the solid oak panel that made up the South wall of the cottage. Goldilocks fell to the concrete floor, slowly twitching from the massive hematoma filled her brain with blood. "What a stupid bitch!" said the mamma bear as all approximately three bears started to laugh and pray. Laugh and pray. Moral: "Not every story has a moral" --end-- |
          Sign up to receive updates and news about the Phillionaire. Trust me. I'm not going to give out any email addresses to anyone, and I doubt I'll send out more than one email a quarter. |