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While
this
is
going
on,
it
gives
my
Belgian
security
forces
time
to
rid
the
house
of
any
guests
who
might
still
be
hanging
around
from
the
outrageous
party
the
night
before.
Normally
most
of
them
have
already
been
eaten
by
the
hounds.
The
women
in
my
bedroom
are
unchained,
subjected
to
a
thorough
cavity
search,
and
then
sent
on
their
way.
But
I
am
nothing
if
not
generous.
None
of
them
are
charged
for
the
evening's
mandatory
delousing,
and
none
of
them
leave
without
a
pat
on
the
head
and
reasonable
bus
fare.
Then
I
sit
down
to
a
lavish
lunch.
Rare
and
exotic
animals
are
brought
in
from
around
the
world
to
be
slaughtered
in
front
of
me
for
my
dining
pleasure
and
general
amusement.
If
you've
ever
known
the
pleasure
of
picking
out
a
lobster
from
a
tank
at
a
restaurant,
then
you
too
know
the
joy
of
marking
a
helpless
animal
for
death.
Well
my
friend,
you
haven't
lived
until
you've
picked
from
your
choice
of
seal
cubs.
Around
2
pm,
I
go
to
1
T-Shirt
Hell
Plaza
to
see
how
our
plans
for
world
domination
are
coming
along.
I
personally
make
sure
all
of
the
Iraqi
weapons
of
mass
destruction
have
been
put
away
neatly,
and
none
of
the
biological
and
chemical
ones
are
leaking
beyond
acceptable
levels.
After
that,
I
go
to
the
writers'
room
where
400
monkeys
are
chained
to
typewriters
tapping
out
t-shirt
slogans.
I
know
you
probably
think
this
is
not
a
lot
of
monkeys.
But
let's
be
honest;
we're
not
trying
to
write
Shakespeare,
just
funny
t-shirts.
Each
monkey
is
responsible
for
coming
up
with
5
funny
slogans
a
week.
Any
monkey
who
can
not
come
up
with
5
coherent
thoughts
a
week
is
immediately
demoted
to
customer
service.
Any
monkey
who
can't
cut
it
in
customer
service,
is
demoted
to
working
on
the
newsletter.
Then
I
return
to
my
estate
where
I
spend
the
evening
feeding
the
homeless...
to
my
hounds.
But
you
don't
want
to
feed
them
too
many,
you
need
to
be
sure
they
have
the
energy
to
eat
any
partygoers
who
overstay
their
welcome.
Soon
it's
an
evening
of
drunken
orgies
with
the
rich
and
famous;
the
dirty
and
the
dangerous.
Erotic
party
games
like,
"Guess
who
fucked
the
hooker
with
AIDS?"
and
"How
many
dildoes
fit
in
the
ass
of
this
teen
runaway?"
will
go
on
far
into
the
night.
Around
3
am,
I
lock
all
of
the
doors
and
set
the
ballroom
on
fire.
Don't
worry,
it's
well
insulated.
Barely
a
wisp
of
smoke,
or
a
muffled
cry
for
mercy
will
escape.
Then
a
light
snack
and
I'm
off
to
bed.
And
all
of
this
is
made
possible
through
the
generous
support
of
people
like
you.
Written
& Submitted by
Gary
From TSHIRTHELL.com
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