The last line should say Jarritos, but my typewriter got drunk.
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All correspondences are forged by the Treat Typists Guild, Local 202, in the typewriter sweatshop hidden in the Semi-Auntomous Exclave of Belugastan. Forgeries are then delivered to unsuspecting rival nation-states in the nearby Metropolis. All documents are forged on the first take, typos included.
A Prolific Literary Output
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2009
(74)
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September
(27)
- My New Baby
- WifeNapping Sliding Pay Scale
- Even More Dirty Limericks
- If you're playing the triangle, you're somebody's ...
- My New Baby
- Jarritos on MiniDisc
- Need Big Font
- Pickup Lines (Guaranteed to Work)
- Commercial
- Blackmail
- I took a bunch more Quaaludes...
- When In Oaxaca...
- Godzilla
- More Dirty Limericks
- Imitation in the Style of Baudelaire
- Bad Jokes Exercising Good Taste
- Remington Remette, Gotham Typewriter Noir
- A Typewriter Rose
- Synesthesia
- I-talians
- Quetzalcoatl is so coming back... (How coming back...
- I used to be a Fur Trapper
- I took a bunch of quaaaludes...
- Not Anthrax
- My wife is so diseased (How diseased is she?)
- My dick, is soo small... (How Small is it?)
- Nagorno-Karabagh
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September
(27)
All letters are approved of by the Sovereign Republic of Belugastan's Typewriter Politburo and subsequently placed in the Outbox, to be delivered to neighboring states.
Queries from all parties may be directed to the Grand Vizier:
joel {{at}} laserscorpion [dot] com
Or to Commisar-General:
joel {{at}} laserscorpion [dot] com
Or to Commisar-General:
SamuelRaphael at Gmail dot Com
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