Start kissing up now, Little People
I'm off to Shreveport with my man this weekend. Gonna get RICH, dontcha know.
Nickel slots, here I come! (That's where all the real money is--it's a well kept secret. Well, it was.)
Have a great weekend!
posted by Rees @ 4:06 PM
5 comments
5 Comments:
Tsk, Shelley. Running off to Schreveport is an act of sheer escapism, as evident in your posting the results of your little "treasure hunt." Moreover, investing your income in "nickel slots" rather than in your mental future is more evidence of an unwillingness to confront the true reality of what may be eventually diagonosed as "Sever Probst Syndrome."
After carefully studying the link you so prominently posted, I would confirm your suspicion that there is evidence of it being "Photoshopped," evidence found in the large black rectangle covering what we specialists term, "The Probst Zone." However, it is my considered opinion that your stated effort at "protective denial" will collapse in the face of the normal human need and drive to firmly grasp the Iconic thing, a drive clearly seen in the second photo to which you also interestingly made extended reference, which demonstrates the pose knowledgeable sources call, "The Probst Pleasure Grasp." To put it in layman's terms, after dwelling for a curiously unstated length of time on at least two occasions now into that blackness, your mind will ceaselessly work at conjuring ideas and images of what is actually in the Probst Zone.
In keeping with my original, breaththrough hypothesis, you may soon find yourself seeing at the most inopportune of times vivid images constructed from both your conscious and unconcious minds. The concious element would likely the provide the material needed to construct the primary visual form for the as yet unknown content of the emerging Absent Probst Iconic Archetype. As a result, your fascination with low-brow, "pop culture," may come back to haunt you in the form of sudden flashes of imagery drawn from bad sci-fi such as "Basket Case" or "Mansquito." My particular concern is with recurrent vivid images popping out--again at the most inopportune times--of a "Beliel" type figure with one head being the "ASS-FACED" Probst and the other head being the "ASSmael" Byrant Gumble.
Visa, Mastercard, I take them all.
Just say, "Charge it."
Dr. Krauthammer has fled the country! We believe he may be in Tiera del Fuego. If you hear from him let us know. He claimed that a militant band of Probst fans had threatened to explode his moped because they deemed the publication of illustrations depicting the many variations of the Probst Pleasure Grasp to be offensive to and disrespectful of their most American of Idols.
He left only a hastefully scrawled note on his desk, which may pertain to your most interesting of potential cases of Probst STD. Krauthammer's writing is intensely dense and famously indecipherable. The fragment of writing reads, "the calm environment of a quiet room, preferably painted or papered in a pastel color such as yellow." It's unclear whether this pertains to your case or even if the most learned doctor intended it as advice or as a thing to stay away from at all costs.
Ah, so the good doctor is (was?) a proponent of the Rest Cure. Perhaps driving his patients mad with yellow wallpaper has interrupted his career?
I am glad I never posted the check.
Please pardon my most unforgivable of errors. In my previous message I misidentified your possible and (depending on your credit rating) probable condition. I wrote, "may pertain to your most interesting of potential cases of Probst STD," but the more accurate diagnosis remains the original Probst TSD.
The so-called, "Probst STD," is a discredited theory belonging to an isolated group of malcontents, former students of the brillant Dr. Krauthammer, which contends that Obsessive Probst Disorder IS a sexually transmitted disease. Here at the Institute, we hypothesize that these students have been so embittered by their experience with Herr Doktor's extreme precision and admirable perfection, that said bitterness has cracked their brains, thus producing their cracked-pot ideas.
Werner has left the Institute at a critical time.
He was on the verge of publishing the first of his many major findings in what promises to be the inaugural issue of Probst Studies Today. It was both his insightful analysis of and mind-expanding illustrations of the Pleasure Grasp, which, of course, led to his rather unexpected and sudden departure to South America. The product of years of extensive on-scene (his many enemies say, "obscene") observation and calibration, the paper tentatively called, The Varieties of Probst Pleasure," would have revolutioned the field, as Dr. Krauthammer, who contends that reality has no variables, precisely accounted for all of the variations on the Probst Pleasure phenonenon, one of the thousands of possible external manifestations of probable PTSD. His landmark work promises to permanently define the exact number of digits in direct proportion to the scale and dimensions of the Probst Iconic Archetypal Substitute employed in the two most common scenarios of the Pleasure Grasp, Singular and Plural.
Dr. Krauthammer daily dazzled us with his brillance, and we basked in the depth of his wisdom and in the radiance of his massive intellect. We like to say, "he puts the Matter in the Matterhorn."
I have only a few minutes before my hidden identity is blown. As usual Dieter has misconstryed much. PSTD and PTSD. It's shameful. He knows the penalty for transposing letters is 10 minutes of self-flaguation followed by hearty calisthenics in the nearest snow drift, all of which he needs to do despite my inability to be there and supervise his penance personally. Dieter is a charity case. The institute took him in after he was in effect "orphaned." After his mother ran off with gypsies, his father deserted him to join the politically controversial group, Skinheads for a Tolerant Tomorrow. Furthermore, he has also demonstrated his extremely weak intellectual grasp of my astoundingly complex theories and has made my brilliant study on digits and dimensions sound like little more than (if you pardon the layman's terms (which are my specialty)) counting how many fingers can dance on the head of the oblong iconic. Worst of all he's evidently led you to believe that I accept checks per your last posting. It's credit cards only. Address to follow.
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