research trip

Sloth and HFP are going on a fact-gathering mission, starting tomorrow. We are going to travel via our new, alternative-fueled vehicle. We will take turns driving; there is a cozy compartment in back for the passenger. The compartment is pimped out with all kinds of electronics and entertainment products. On our trip, we will be testing different kinds of excrement-based fuel, but we will mainly focus on seafood-byproduct. We hope to be able to report our findings from the road.

it's horrible, really

This is all that remains. The objects have been taken as evidence. We will be contacting you shortly.

pain arena

Slothy is off to the arena of pain this morning. A few days ago, there was a Mangle Orientation Session with one of the arena pro's, a former gym teacher named Bitsy. The other session attendees whispered "Titsy!" to each other. Bitsy is fond of uttering things like "keep those knees up, maggot!" and "no pain, no gain, ya slugs!" and other inspirational sayings. She is a terror. Sloth loves her on some deep level, probably because she is so maternal.

shindig

Well, Kittens, what a night! The hoe-down was a festive and joyous pleasure-scape. Sloth and HFP arrived (a little late, it's true) in the beautiful and fully-stocked stretch Pacer partymobile. Fairy Butler demonstrated her mad dance skills, including many tumbling moves and a hoola-hoop number. The "Krixfort reveal" was a cause for great excitement and rejoicing. MM wore the spangly, haute rape-pants. Hammy Pawlet was sweet and cuddly and endearing.

The high point of the evening, though, was viewing the scratchings of the Mountain Man. Such beautiful marks of great delicacy! They show how finely-tuned MM's antennae truly are, and Sloth marvels at the sensitivity of the Hairy One. They easily stole the show. Yay for MM!

transportation

Sloth came across an ad for a rickshaw-style limo service. It would make for a smashing entrance to the hoe-down. Wandee Love has hired a team of beauty experts, including a very expensive fluffer, so why not go all out?

The other possibility is this bitchin' stretch Pacer:



Sloth is no good at making these kinds of choices, being chronically indecisive.

Home sweet Log

Our little vacation is over, and Sloth is happy to be home, picking the sand-fleas, crustaceans, and other sea life out of the fur. They are like mementos of our trip. Sloth will press them into a scrapbook for future cherishing, to warm up the cold days of winter to come.

Sloth and Hyena False Penis noticed a fashion phenomenon that has caught on at the beach. It is called the "slingshot" bathing suit. Sloth was hoping to see the actual slingshot-action, but nobody wanted to demonstrate. Perhaps the Russians could use this remarkable invention to launch their next space-sailboat.

long weekend

Sloth has developed a pain in the paw from all of the computing lately. It is making for the grumps. The only treatment is a medicine called "Grump-Ex," but it needs to be augmented by a vacation-getaway in order to be effective. So Slothy has arranged to take a voyage with Hyena False Penis. There is a special oceanside shack for the relaxing. There is a deck and a hammock and there are gin-and-tonics for the soothing and the calming. This immersion-treatment will last 4 days, which is the minimum recommended dosage. HFP has rented a sporty vehicle for the trip:



The sunscreen has been packed, the weeds have been whacked, and Sloth is ready to flee. Lift-off is scheduled for Saturday morning. Sloth is counting the minutes.

Saint Bleph

There once was a hairy guy named Mr. Bleph. He lived in New York, where he was constantly exposed to the beautiful people, the hairless and the tanned. Bleph felt freakish in comparison, so he foolishly decided to get his back and neck waxed, just to "fit in."

The local spa takes walk-ins, so Bleph walked in. The Korean ladies all gasped in horror, and rushed him into the back room. The hot stuff was applied. It hurt like hell, and the results looked strange, as if he had been mowed in patches. So he decided to go all the way; the hairs were ripped out of his chest, his arms and legs, his ass, his scrotum, and finally, his entire head. The blood rushed to the skin and he was inflamed. His whole body itched like mad.

He jumped up off the waxing table, and ran naked out of the spa and into the Duane Reade, where he stood in the unguents aisle and smeared himself with cortisone cream, tube after tube. But it was too late. Mr. Bleph died of the itching, and was declared a saint. Let this be a lesson to you.

A Treasury of Art

Gaze upon the beautiful, empty field. This picture is a "palate-cleaner," to prepare for the mind-journey to come. Here are some links for you to explore with Sloth:

Big Eyed Art

Catland

Huge Magazine's Thriftstore Art Gallery

The Museum of Bad Art

Paintbynumberz.com

The PSB Gallery of Thrift Store Art

Weird Art

Confession

Sloth has a secret. Last week, Sloth joined a community health club in lower Chelsea Forest. The club is not a fancy club -- it is, in fact, a little bit the municipal-type -- but there are lots of things to do there, like swim and take betterment classes and such. Sloth has signed up for the Power-Tuft class with an amazing guru of tuftedness. She is spectacular.

The first class was humiliating, because Sloth is such a rank beginner, but Sloth is determined to go back next time and to keep working until there is some kind of improvement. The fur of Sloth is a problem. It blooms with the blue-green algae and has tiny critters living in it. This, along with the backward-growingness, makes Sloth the class freak. But Sloth is learning many things, including the thing that it is okay to be a freak.

War

The Fouler speaks with a forked tongue. Words that hiss through the gap between the forks come out twisted and poisonous. We are behind you, Mountain Man, with our array of implements, medieval and otherwise, poised and ready for the bashing. Krix has her flail, Wandee has a flesh-removing apparatus, Ham Paw has the tongue-lashing device, PD has the slicer, Fairy Butler has an army of nibblers, and Sloth has long snaggle-claws that slash and tear. We are a loyal and invincible army!

Sleep problems

Usually, Sloth loves sleep better than anything. But lately, there have been strange visitations in the night. Someone called "The Companion" floats into the dreams of Sloth and just stares, stares, stares at Sloth. It is uncanny and creepy. Sloth tries to yell, but is strangely paralyzed, as if on a large dose of Klonopin. Sloth waits for The Companion to make a noise, to say something, anything. Sloth wakes up with the shakes, and can't get back to sleep, not even with crossword-puzzles. The bags under Sloth's eyes have grown from wallets to hobo-bags. Please stay away, strangeling. Or at least tell Sloth what it is that you want to say.