This is a multi-part message in MIME format.
  Dear momma,

  Today the price of a pound of tomatoes in Cooktown fell to $.78 which
was a definite boost for the local economy. It's been a while since I've
seen
so cheery, happy faces in front of Piggley-Wiggley's. I personally
bought 5 lb
of tomatoes - just in case.
        The day before yesterday my host, Jimmah, decided to take me to a
church, so that I can see how Americans worship. I welcomed that indeed and accordingly, Friday night went to bed early so that I can be fresh for the service on Sunday morning. They kept playing Rook in the kitchen - I
sure hoped
they knew what they were doing...
        On Sunday morning I woke up early, took a shower, shaved, put some of
that "for men only" deodorant, carefully adjusted my crotch (slightly to the left, as I always do) and by six I was  ready. The only problem - 
nobody else
was. So I waited and waited until finally, by eight o'clock people started waking up and mingling around the kitchen in their undies, looking for
coffee,
socks, combs and everything that a religious individual in these United
States
is usually looking for on a Sunday morning. Hope they found it.
        By nine we were all packed in the Chevy pickup truck and were driving
along I-40 towards downtown. To my great amazement, we stopped at
something that
didn't look like a church at all, but a delicious smell came out of it.
Jimmah
explained that all God fearing people must have breakfast before
praising the
Lord and the best breakfast is found at Shoneys - that's where we were. I trusted Jimmah since he's a God fearing individual and I figured he'd
know the
most about things spiritual. Besides I was kinda hungry myself, so I
said, what
the hell, I'll have breakfast too. I asked Jimmah if people up north had Shoneys too, but he said no. He said, yankees are dumb - they don't know they're ass from a hole in the ground, much less where to go for
breakfast. He
said most of  'em people are atheists anyhow, which made sense.
        So we went in for that breakfast. Turns out Americans eat very funny
things for breakfast. There was no toast, jelly and butter, neither
there was
cheese. There was scrambled  eggs, country ham, gravy, biscuits, sausage,
lots of coffee and orange juice. Unusual but I have to admit it - Americans ain't as dumb as they look - they sure know what to eat on a Sunday
morning! I
myself was so stuffed that I was ready to go back to sleep. Jimmah said,
wait
'til we get to church, then sleep. I wondered what he meant by that...
        Anyhow, we got crammed back in the truck and kept rolling. We drove and
drove, Gosh, I wondered how many people have to suffer driving that much
just
to attend a service. Jimmah said, nah, it's nothing - we drive 3.5 hours
to the
Smokeys just to eat the best catfish there's to be eaten! 3.5 hours!
Geez, it
must be some kinda fish - especially since it is also a cat.  I wanted
to see
that muther, but I wasn't sure I wanted to eat her. What I was sure of
was that
there was no way in hell I'd drive 3.5 hours to see some fish, be it cat or dog!
        So finally we stop. I look around for that church and well, I don't see
no church. There's this weird looking building, but there's no damn way that could be a church. It's large and very flat, for the most part and only in front there's this huge structure, all made outa black glass. On top of
it there
's
something like a funny shaped crystal. So I say, Jimmah, what in hell is
this?
and he says, that's the church, Aivan! Good golly, Molly, that WAS the
church!!
So I say, Jimmah, where's the cross? And he says, well, we're modern
there is
no cross. Lemme tell you somefin, people, that's the first church I saw
that it
didn't have any cross on! So, I say, Jimmah, why is that church so flat? Churches are supposed to be high, with tops covered with gold and a bell and all that. He says, naah, we're pentecostal, we don't believe in that
bullshit.
Well, I figured they must be some sect - like the Hare Krishnas or
something,
so I didn't ask any more questions. (But still, I was looking around
hoping to
find a cross - a lil' bitty, ittsy-bitsy cross. I mean, it's a shame
without a
cross. I just didn't feel comfortable that way).
        Anyhow, we get outa that truck and God bless, there's a whole parking
lot full of them trucks. It was like a wedding or something. People were all dressed up - men in suits, women in them funky looking dresses with
flowers on
the back and flowers on the hats and lots of makeup. So I say, Jimmah, that don't look like a church service to me, that looks like a celebration of
some
kind. Look at them women, painted like hookers off Seventh Avenue - it's a shame! But he says, naah, God wants us to enjoy ourselves. Oh well... I kept looking for the priest but couldn't see one. So I say, Jimmah, where's the priest and he says, we ain't got no priest. how in hell can you not have a priest, I mean, who's gonna lead the service. He says, we got a
minister. So I
kept looking for a minister until they finally showed him to me. What a disgrace that was! the man had no black robe, no beard, no black robe,
no big
solver cross on a big silver chain hanging off his neck, no belly, no
nothing.
There was this schmuck in a suit, with a rose attached to his jacket,
grinning
like you wouldn't believe it. I say, Jimmah, are you surely that's him? That don't look like God's person to me. He ain't got no robe, no cross, no
nothing
; how can be a priest? He looks like a used cars salesman to me. Jimmah
laughs
and says, he ain't a priest, he is a minister and he IS a cars salesman
in his
spare time. Oh well... I shook hands with the salesman (everybody shook
hands
with him - he must be selling good trucks) and we went in.
        Well, if you thought that the outside of the "church" was funky looking, you should've seen the inside! Looked like a damn movie theater. It had carpet, chairs (very comfy looking ones), stage, huge chandeliers
hanging on
top with electrical lights in 'em. It even had a stage! I say to myself,
them
people surely will go to hell! What kind of a church that is - it has not a single icon. I say, Jimmah, how are we supposed to worship without icons? he says, don't worry, you'll see, we don't need no icons, we're pentecostals. I forgot - them sects...
        And they made me sit in that chair. So the salesman got up and started
talking something about God and being good to each other and all that stuff, but there was no service. He'd be talking, some old dude would yell once
in a
while "Amen" and I'd be siting in my deep, comfy chair, wonderin' about if sectarians would be ever allowed in purgatory or would they go straight to hell.
        Finally, the salesman started singing and everybody got up and started
singing as well. I did too. There wasn't whole lot to it and I kinda
enjoyed it.
You yell "halleluja" and hum the rest of the time. Some people really
got into
it though. There's this lady in the back of me, she started waving her hands all over, and yelling, help me Lordy, Jesus help me and kept smacking me
on the
back of the head with her boobs. She was outa of it altogether. I said,
lady, I
ain't Lordy, I can't help ya, so please, stop smackin' me on de head
like that!
But Jimmah said, she ain't hearing you, she's talking to de Lord personally, let her be. So what the hell, I'm a gentleman, I let her be. She came to her senses later one. Good looking woman, good looking boobs, but loose
screws in
the head - i see 'em ever day!
So we were done in an hours time, which was just as well. Jimmah said,
how  did you like the service, I said, that ham was the best and they all laughed. Sectarians have a weird sense of humor, I tell ya...

        Luv ya tenderly,
                Your sonny,

                                                        -= Ivan =-

---
Peace from The Holy Orthodox Church Of The Menstrual Blood Of The Virgin
Mary




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  Dear momma,<br>
<br>
  Today the price of a pound of tomatoes in Cooktown fell to
$.78 which<br>
was a definite boost for the local economy. It's been a while
since I've seen<br>
so cheery, happy faces in front of Piggley-Wiggley's. I
personally bought 5 lb<br>
of tomatoes - just in case.<br>
        The day before yesterday my host, Jimmah, decided to
take me to a<br>
church, so that I can see how Americans worship. I welcomed that
indeed and<br>
accordingly, Friday night went to bed early so that I can be
fresh for the<br>
service on Sunday morning. They kept playing Rook

This is a multi-part message in MIME format.
On 4/18/2025 12:27 PM, Ivan wrote:

  Dear momma,

  Today the price of a pound of tomatoes in Cooktown fell to $.78 which
was a definite boost for the local economy. It's been a while since
I've seen
so cheery, happy faces in front of Piggley-Wiggley's. I personally
bought 5 lb
of tomatoes - just in case.
        The day before yesterday my host, Jimmah, decided to take me to a
church, so that I can see how Americans worship. I welcomed that
indeed and
accordingly, Friday night went to bed early so that I can be fresh for the service on Sunday morning. They kept playing Rook in the kitchen - I
sure hoped
they knew what they were doing...
        On Sunday morning I woke up early, took a shower, shaved, put some of
that "for men only" deodorant, carefully adjusted my crotch (slightly
to the
left, as I always do) and by six I was  ready. The only problem - 
nobody else
was. So I waited and waited until finally, by eight o'clock people started waking up and mingling around the kitchen in their undies, looking for coffee,
socks, combs and everything that a religious individual in these
United States
is usually looking for on a Sunday morning. Hope they found it.         By nine we were all packed in the Chevy pickup truck and were driving
along I-40 towards downtown. To my great amazement, we stopped at
something that
didn't look like a church at all, but a delicious smell came out of
it. Jimmah
explained that all God fearing people must have breakfast before
praising the
Lord and the best breakfast is found at Shoneys - that's where we were. I trusted Jimmah since he's a God fearing individual and I figured he'd
know the
most about things spiritual. Besides I was kinda hungry myself, so I
said, what
the hell, I'll have breakfast too. I asked Jimmah if people up north had Shoneys too, but he said no. He said, yankees are dumb - they don't know they're ass from a hole in the ground, much less where to go for
breakfast. He
said most of  'em people are atheists anyhow, which made sense.         So we went in for that breakfast. Turns out Americans eat very funny
things for breakfast. There was no toast, jelly and butter, neither
there was
cheese. There was scrambled  eggs, country ham, gravy, biscuits, sausage, lots of coffee and orange juice. Unusual but I have to admit it -
Americans
ain't as dumb as they look - they sure know what to eat on a Sunday
morning! I
myself was so stuffed that I was ready to go back to sleep. Jimmah
said, wait
'til we get to church, then sleep. I wondered what he meant by that...         Anyhow, we got crammed back in the truck and kept rolling. We drove and
drove, Gosh, I wondered how many people have to suffer driving that
much just
to attend a service. Jimmah said, nah, it's nothing - we drive 3.5
hours to the
Smokeys just to eat the best catfish there's to be eaten! 3.5 hours!
Geez, it
must be some kinda fish - especially since it is also a cat. I wanted
to see
that muther, but I wasn't sure I wanted to eat her. What I was sure of
was that
there was no way in hell I'd drive 3.5 hours to see some fish, be it
cat or
dog!
        So finally we stop. I look around for that church and well, I don't see
no church. There's this weird looking building, but there's no damn
way that
could be a church. It's large and very flat, for the most part and only in front there's this huge structure, all made outa black glass. On top
of it there
's
something like a funny shaped crystal. So I say, Jimmah, what in hell
is this?
and he says, that's the church, Aivan! Good golly, Molly, that WAS the church!!
So I say, Jimmah, where's the cross? And he says, well, we're modern
there is
no cross. Lemme tell you somefin, people, that's the first church I
saw that it
didn't have any cross on! So, I say, Jimmah, why is that church so flat? Churches are supposed to be high, with tops covered with gold and a
bell and
all that. He says, naah, we're pentecostal, we don't believe in that bullshit.
Well, I figured they must be some sect - like the Hare Krishnas or
something,
so I didn't ask any more questions. (But still, I was looking around
hoping to
find a cross - a lil' bitty, ittsy-bitsy cross. I mean, it's a shame
without a
cross. I just didn't feel comfortable that way).
        Anyhow, we get outa that truck and God bless, there's a whole parking
lot full of them trucks. It was like a wedding or something. People
were all
dressed up - men in suits, women in them funky looking dresses with
flowers on
the back and flowers on the hats and lots of makeup. So I say, Jimmah,
that
don't look like a church service to me, that looks like a celebration
of some
kind. Look at them women, painted like hookers off Seventh Avenue - it's a shame! But he says, naah, God wants us to enjoy ourselves. Oh well...
I kept
looking for the priest but couldn't see one. So I say, Jimmah, where's the priest and he says, we ain't got no priest. how in hell can you not have a priest, I mean, who's gonna lead the service. He says, we got a
minister. So I
kept looking for a minister until they finally showed him to me. What a disgrace that was! the man had no black robe, no beard, no black robe,
no big
solver cross on a big silver chain hanging off his neck, no belly, no nothing.
There was this schmuck in a suit, with a rose attached to his jacket, grinning
like you wouldn't believe it. I say, Jimmah, are you surely that's
him? That
don't look like God's person to me. He ain't got no robe, no cross, no nothing
; how can be a priest? He looks like a used cars salesman to me.
Jimmah laughs
and says, he ain't a priest, he is a minister and he IS a cars
salesman in his
spare time. Oh well... I shook hands with the salesman (everybody
shook hands
with him - he must be selling good trucks) and we went in.
        Well, if you thought that the outside of the "church" was funky
looking, you should've seen the inside! Looked like a damn movie
theater. It
had carpet, chairs (very comfy looking ones), stage, huge chandeliers
hanging on
top with electrical lights in 'em. It even had a stage! I say to
myself, them
people surely will go to hell! What kind of a church that is - it has
not a
single icon. I say, Jimmah, how are we supposed to worship without
icons? he
says, don't worry, you'll see, we don't need no icons, we're
pentecostals. I
forgot - them sects...
        And they made me sit in that chair. So the salesman got up and started
talking something about God and being good to each other and all that
stuff,
but there was no service. He'd be talking, some old dude would yell
once in a
while "Amen" and I'd be siting in my deep, comfy chair, wonderin' about if sectarians would be ever allowed in purgatory or would they go straight to hell.
        Finally, the salesman started singing and everybody got up and started
singing as well. I did too. There wasn't whole lot to it and I kinda
enjoyed it.
You yell "halleluja" and hum the rest of the time. Some people really
got into
it though. There's this lady in the back of me, she started waving her
hands
all over, and yelling, help me Lordy, Jesus help me and kept smacking
me on the
back of the head with her boobs. She was outa of it altogether. I
said, lady, I
ain't Lordy, I can't help ya, so please, stop smackin' me on de head
like that!
But Jimmah said, she ain't hearing you, she's talking to de Lord
personally,
let her be. So what the hell, I'm a gentleman, I let her be. She came
to her
senses later one. Good looking woman, good looking boobs, but loose
screws in
the head - i see 'em ever day!
So we were done in an hours time, which was just as well. Jimmah said,
how  did you like the service, I said, that ham was the best and they all laughed. Sectarians have a weird sense of humor, I tell ya...

        Luv ya tenderly,
                Your sonny,

                                                        -= Ivan =-

---
Peace from The Holy Orthodox Church Of The Menstrual Blood Of The
Virgin Mary

        Dear momma,

     Today the price of tomatoes in Cooktown was $.82 which is kinda high, compared to the price of eggs in China. On the other hand, the local
paper says that most Chinese eat rice and their standard of living is not as good, so I figured, I'm still better off in here buying tomatoes than being China buying eggs. They also said in that paper that half of the Japanese
still pee in pots. Them pots must be very tiny, on the account of the fact
that there's very little free space in Japan. I reckon the Japanese have to
pee very lil', but a man does what a man has to do. I remember not peeing
for 32 hours once... but that's a different story altogether. Anyhow, the
paper talks about them things 'cause we're culturally diverse and we ought
to be aware of what other people eat, where they pee and other things
such as this, so we can understand each other better and love each other because of it. At least, that's what the paper
says. The thing about  Americans is - they always wanna love each other.
        Today I wanna tell you about gals, 'cause you know me, I like talking 'bout things like that. Gals here are very different. They shave
under the armpits - I dunno why. I ask one of 'em, said yo, big mama,
how come you shave under the arms (she was wearing one of 'em cut-off
t-shirts with no sleeves and as hard as I tried, I couldn't see no hair sticking out). She looks at me kinda angry, then turns around and
SLAAAP!! with her handbag, smacks me on the head. Well, I don't mind
being smacked on the head, I gotta thick head - you know me, but I
wondered about that. Maybe she got upset 'cause somebody shaved her
against her will. You remember that time when I kept a pencil in my front pocket and when I was climbing the stairs I stabbed myself in the
weewee? They had to shave my weewee all the way around and I didn't
like that at all. Maybe somebody smacked her with a pencil under the
armpit... But that turned out not to be the truth, 'cause all of 'em
gals shave
under the armpits. I asked that gal if I can touch her there to see how it feels, but she says, you dumb fuck, (that means I'm dumb) and
SMAAAACK!! once again with that handbag of hers on my head. So I
figured, she didn't want me to touch her there. So I didn't. Anyhow, I'm
still curious how does it feel to be with no hair under there. It looks real ugly though - bare skin with tiny bitsy hairs - like pigskin.
        Funny thing is, them gals shave on other places that you wouldn't
believe. I dunno how exactly to tell ya where they shave, it's, like,
shameful. They shave around the legs, waaaay up there, you know,
THAT place! I asked my host, Jimmah, about it and he says, yup women
shave there 'cause they wanna be wearing them tiny bikinis, but they
don't want no hair showing up. Maybe their hair is real ugly and they don't want no people seeing it. I don't understand that either, but that's what
they call "foreign culture, mom, it's like, real strange.
        Funny thing is, here not every girl is a real one. There's plenty of
fake ones too. Once I went to a bar and there some babes, ...you
wouldn't believe it! Real gorgeous ones. So, I ordered me a drink and I
noticed one of 'em looking at my direction. I was thinking, geez, babe,
you surely must be itching down there real bad, if you can't wait for me to
at least finish my drink. Good think about girls here, is that they are
not as
shy as the ones in Bulgaria. Here you can look at her, go over right away,
say hi and she'll say hi as well. She'll even smile at ya, if you ain't real ugly. But you can't touch. :-( Anyhow, so I go to that gal and say hi,
and she
sez hiya coming right back at ya, and smiles. That means I ain't ugly, so
that kinda encouraged me. And I say, yo, hot mama, you wanna cook me
a dinner tonight. And she sez, sure babe, won't you check out the
temperature of my oven? and grabs my hand and puts it right in between
her legs. And I feel and.... AAAAAAA!!, momma, if I told ya what this
gal had in between her legs, you just woudn't believe it! It was a guy!!!
Well, it made me sick, so I went to the restroom and puked. I was sick
for days afterwards. From then on, I'm always kinda cautious when I put
my hand in there. I'm scared I'd find something that don't really belong
there.
        Anyhow, Jimmah sez that fake gals are no good and they'd go straight to hell. I'm like yeah, Jimmah, you're right, but that one,
...she was
so gorgeous, ...I wish she didn't have that thing in between her legs. I
still
think of her, but I try not to think too much about them things,'cause I get confused and Jimmah sez that getting confused is dangerous.
        That's all for now.
                Luv ya tenderly,
                        Your sonny,

                                                        -= Ivan =-

---
BBB



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<div class="moz-cite-prefix">On 4/18/2025 12:27 PM, Ivan wrote:<br>
</div>
<blockquote type="cite" cite="mid:vtu93p$1jai5$2@dont-email.me">
<meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8">
<p><font size="2" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif"> <br>
  Dear momma,<br>
<br>
  Today the price of a pound of tomatoes in Cooktown fell to
$.78 which<br>
was a definite boost for the local economy. It's been a while
since I've seen<br>
so cheery, happy faces in front of Piggley-Wiggley's. I
personally bought 5 lb<br>
of tomatoes - just in case.<br>
        The day before yesterday my host, Jimmah, decided to
take me to a<br>
church, so that I can see how Americans worship. I welcomed

This is a multi-part message in MIME format.
        Dear momma,

        The price of tomatoes in Cooktown stayed pretty much the same for the last few weeks. You know how small towns are - nothing hardly
ever changes. My neighbor's still kicking his dog every morning, 'cause the sonofabitch starts barking exactly at four thirty  and wakes up the whole neighborhood. And his neighbor keep filling them complaints with the
Society For Animal Protection 'cause Mrs. Pennington says it's an animal
abuse and such behavior is criminal.  And the Society For Animal
Protection keeps calling Ray asking him if he wouldn't like to give the dog
for adoption. And Ray keeps saying, hell, no, this is *MY* dog and why
don't ya all mind your own damn business and stop meddling in man's
personal affairs. And that's how it goes. But what does Theo care - he
barks for half an hour every morning, wakes up everybody, then he goes
back to sleep for the good part of the day. Meanwhile, the price of
tomatoes remains unchanged. Small towns, I tell ya...

        I went to school and I wanna tell you about it, 'cause schools here
ain't what you think they are. Students here look strange - half of 'em have earrings sticking off their lips and nostrils, the boys wear their fathers' pants (the bottoms hang down to their knees) and the girls wear their brothers'  boxers on top of them black pantyhoses. All have weird hairdos
and black leather jackets. Half of 'em go by the name "Dude". I've never
seen so many boys and gals with the same name at one spot. I thought
that the most popular American name is John, or Jim, or something, but it ain't. It's Dude. You'd be walking down the street and you'd see a whole
bunch of them meeting another bunch. And one of 'em will say, hey Dude,
what's happening. And  another one replies, I'm chilling, Dude, just
chilling. And a third one will come along and say, hey Dudes, you wanna
go for a Nintendo game? And it turns out that from seven of 'em, six are
named Dude. Really strange.

        The classrooms are even stranger. The blackboards are actually greenboards. Even worse, lots of times they're whiteboards (plastic ones)
and the chalk is black. The desks also are chairs with small tray in
front of
'em. First times I saw them things I thought, maybe this is the kindergarten part of the school and them lil' kids sit here and have their afternoon milk
on those small trays. But it turns out, that's supposed to be the desk and
that where you keep your books, paper, pencils and so fourth. Well,
there's hardly enough space to prompt your elbows, much less put
anything else. We have a big, fat guy in our class, his name is Dude, he's
so fat that he can't fit in that lil' chair, so they let him sit in a
regular
chair (without a tray). And he sits there all day long.

        You remember, when we was lil' we had to wear them uniforms
and get haircuts regularly and be polite and respectful to the teacher and
when she entered the room, we had to all get up and say "Good morning,
Madam" and she'd say "Good morning, kids, be seated" and only then we'd
sit. Well, here's exactly the opposite. When that teacher enters, nobody
stands up, but in the middle of the class, Dude will get up and go to the vending machine to get him crackers, and come back and make noises for
the rest of the class. The teacher says nothing, 'cause she is scared she
won't get her tenure if she harasses students. If you don't know what
vending machine is, it's a machine that gives you food when you give it
money. Sometimes, you'd give it money, but it will not give you food, so in this case you ought to scare it and kick it and call it names, like, fuckityousonofabitch!, and bang it with your fists and if you're lucky,
it will
give you your food. It seems like American kids are real busy, 'cause all of 'em eat their breakfast in class. Kids eat for breakfast crackers and Coke.
The teacher eats nothing - she's on a diet. Besides, she is too busy writing
on the whiteboard with the black chalk and looking miserable. She can't
pull nobody's ear and that's why all the boys read dirty magazines in class
and all the girls giggle, and Dude eats crackers and sleeps. See, if she
pulls
someone's ear, parents get very upset, the principal gets bend all outa
shape and the newspapers write about child abuse, so we do whatever
the hell we want to.

        Tests here are real easy on the account of the diversity of the students and their sensibilities. If a teacher gives a hard test, many kids will fail it and that upsets the kids and upsets their parents and the principal
gets bend all outa shape and the newspapers write about biases and so
forth and it's a big mess. Well, nobody here likes to be upset, so the
teacher doesn't give hard tests and nobody fails and everything is real
good and everyone is real happy and everyone's sensitivities have been
spared. Well, there're some real, real dumb kids, but here they aren't
called dumb, they are called special. And the regular, real dumb kids are called challenged and  the dumb kids are called just kids and the kids that aren't dumb are called gifted. There ain't too many gifted kids out here.

        I have lots of money, 'cause Dude pays me one dollar to do his homework and five dollars to help with his tests. The teacher says it's
alright to help him and do his homework as long as we ain't cheating.
And we ain't. Also, the teacher gives me ten dollars to grade the
homework, 'cause she says she's too busy and has to go see her
boyfriend and it's a deadend job anyhow - that's what she says. So I like
it here in school. They tell me that in college I get payed even better for doing other people's homework and grading it, 'cause teachers there also
say that it's a deadend job and have to go see their girlfriends and boyfriends. Dude will also go to college.

        Luv ya tenderly,
                Your sonny,

                                        -= Ivan =-


---
BBB


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        Dear momma,<br>
<br>
        The price of tomatoes in Cooktown stayed pretty much the
same<br>
for the last few weeks. You know how small towns are - nothing
hardly<br>
ever changes. My neighbor's still kicking his dog every morning,
'cause the<br>
sonofabitch starts barking exactly at four thirty  and wakes up the
whole<br>
neighborhood. And his neighbor keep filling them complaints with the<br>
Society For Animal Protection 'cause Mrs. Pennington says it's an
animal<br>
abuse and such behavior is criminal.  And the Society For Animal<br>
Protection keeps calling Ray asking him if he wouldn't like to give
the dog<br>
for adoption. And Ray keeps saying, hell, no, this is *MY* dog and
why<br>
don't ya all mind your own damn business and stop meddling in

Many years ago, the proto Bulgars came from central Asia to
invade the Balkans. They were no Slavs, mind you. The Slavs were
all pussies - working the land, slaving under Byzantia, wearing them
white pajamas (and didn't even know karate)... in other words,
they were making asses outa themselves.  They were, ladies and
gentlemen, the laughing stock of Europe. It would be like, here
comes the Bizantine dude, all in armor, on his horse, looking for
trouble. And there would be Milovan, in his white robe, holding a
pot of wild honey (that he had been gathering for a good part of
that beautiful, summer morning) and awaiting for a command. So
Stavrakis, the soldier, would go: "Milovan, where's your daughter,
you brainless scum? Didn't I tell you that I like your daughter? Uh?
Didn't I tell you that next time I come here, I wanna inspect your
daughter - personally!?" And Milovan's big, sky-blue, clear eyes
would feel with fear and anxiety and he'd be like "Yes, Sir, Mr.
Stavrakis, but she ain't here. Her aunt is sick, so she went to
Skopie to visit her." And Stavrakis would be like "Sick, uh? You
better watch it, asshole, 'cause one of those days you gonna really
piss me off!" And he'd smack Milovan right across the face, rip his virgin-white robe all to pieces, kick his bare ass, get the pot of
honey and ride off. The arrogant sonofabitch, that's exactly what
he'd do. And Slav Milovan would just lay there and cry and moan
and curse his bad fortune. Yup, that's what were the Slavs like.

        The Bulgars were another thing altogether - big, hairy
dudes with strong affinity towards babes, booze and fights. They
were professional warriors, passionate lovers, poets and gentlemen
in all respect. If a Bulgar was to meet Stavrakis, he won't even talk
to the sonofabitch. He'd just say "Your momma!" at the most, point
his spear straight forward, yell "Taaaaaantraaaaaa!!!" which was
the battle cry of all the Bulgars (and powerful kiai as well), charge
forward and stab Stavrakis in the throat. Yup, that's exactly what
he'd do. Of course, afterwards, he'd take that pot of honey for
himself, but he won't kick or abuse Milovan or anything like that.

As I said the Bulgars were gentlemen. That's why Milovan and
them Slavs liked the Bulgars. They'd feed them with milk and honey
(The Beatles actually were very aware of ancient Balkan history.
More so than you might imagine), give 'em a place to stay and treat
them nicely and with respect. In return, the Bulgars would protect
them against Bizantia and provide the Slavs with management and
supervision. Well, Milovan's daughter would most definitely lose
her virginity to a Bulgar, but that's better than  her fiddling with
Stavrakis and his bunch. The Bulgars were lovers too and  they
new what the hell they were doing in bed as well as in the
battlefield. (For more information on that topic, the scholars among
ourselves are encouraged to read the brilliant work of Dr. Y.
Dontchev, "Svalyach Li E Bulgarskiyat Mqzh"). Them Greeks all
had small dicks anyhow and they didn't know shit about love
making. For example, Plato was saying "Beauty is Truth and Truth
is Beauty" while Asparuch was saying "Hot mama, just climb on my
elevator and by the time I take you to the highest floor, you
wouldn't care shit about turth or beauty!" Now, if you were a lady,
who would you choose? No wonder all the Slavic chicks were
going for them big, hairy Bulgarian studs and intermixing like you
wouldn't believe it. (Well, if it was up to Jimmah, he'd say that they
were fucking like rabbits, but in His infinity wisdom, God didn't
bless Jimmah with any writing talants whatsoever, so we're all
spared from his sensless profanities). Well, that wasn't that good
for the Bulgars ('cause in a few generations the purity of that
warrior blood watered down significantly), but that's how history
goes and there ain't a darn thing we could do about it.

        Anyhow, so here they were, invading the Balkans, kicking
ass left and right. They were led by Asparuch, a dude of about 65
years of age, strong as an ape and stubborn as a mule. So, after
another battle, Asparuch was sitting in front of his tent, drinking
yogurt and scratching his crotch. It was New Year's eve. The sun
was shining, birds were singing, dogs were fucking and nature was
the perfect proof that God indeed existed. However, Asparuch
didn't give shit about that. It was about a thousand years before
Thoreau was even born, so the proto Bulgars weren't that hot on
the idea that God and Nature were somehow related. As far as
they were concerned, God was Tantra - a big, hairy dude who
liked to fight, drink and get laid, just as themselves.

Obviously, since they came from central Asia, the more learned
of them were aware of the Ying-Yang interplay between the elements,
but Asparuch was never much philosophically inclined. Nevertheless,
he couldn't help it but notice the sublimeness of the moment and suddenly,
a verse came to his mind:

                        Lugubrious
                        B-flat
                        Peeled orange
                        Two dogs fucking
                        Vigorously

        Asparuch smiled. If he was a native Indian, he would-be
played his flute. If he was a Japanese, he would've performed the
Cha-No-Yu ceremony. But he was neither, he was only a proto
Bulgar,  so he scratched his crotch once more and kept smiling.

        The sun was slowly drowned in the dampness of night, the
dogs bit each other's asses and finally separated, but that sense of
beauty and onness remained forever. And even nowadays, when
you see a Bulgarian scratching his crotch and smiling, you should
recognize in him the aesthete, the philosopher and the poet, the
seeker of Truth and Beauty. We've had it ever since Asparuch and
we still have it!

        Happy  Aesthetic New Year to all of you,

                                                                -= Ivan =-

---
Eye no owl eye neat too no abaut spelnig, tank u vary match!

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Dear momma,

        The price of tomatoes in Cooktown sharply fell to $0.54 a pound and uncle Jerry was giving his tomatoes for free. He was so happy that the Democrats are finally out of business that he almost put himself out of business as well. Because of the election, aunt Jemima had huge discounts
on her maple sirup so that all folks can generously pour sirup on their
waffles and celebrate. And they did! Jimmah's li'l one put so much sirup
on his waffle that it stuck his lips shut, so they had to call the
veterinarian
to do a surgical on him. Jimmah sez, them kids are a lot of trouble.
Jimmah also sez that jest 'cause the Clit folks are finally outa office does not mean that some other ol', no good geezard will not get in and that
them politicians must be shot, 'cause they ain't good for nufin but
lyin' and
cheatin'. Giovanni, (who is the local gay community) said that he is happy
that the Clinton folks lost since the sonsofabitches made promisses they
never followed on, but he said he's unhappy that the Republicans won
since the sonsofbitches won't make the attempt to even make a promisse. Giovanni sez, I'm really confused, but lots of people say that Giovanni has been confused for a long time now, so I don't really know what the point
is. Dude said that he don't know nufin about this politics stuff - he had to watch a baseball game. Dude also sez that Giovanni is a pervert. Giovanni
sez that Dude is an animal, so that kinda evens things up.

        Finally, I are a college student. Dude is a college student too. He had
it a little bit rough getting accepted but he got in on a football
scholarship.
He's really big and strong, so he must deserve a scholarship. Here it pays
to be big and strong. They told him that his English ain't that good and
that
his math ain't that great either and that his reading skills are kinda
low, but
the coach told him, don't worry, we'll take care of it, so Dude ain't
worried. Here it pays to have a coach. Dude is just a lucky person, I
guess. But in his first year at college he has to go through developemental studies, which is something like high school, but in college and it is
designed for all the kids who don't wanna be in high school ( on the
account that high school is boring), but wanna be in college (on the
account that there're lots of hot babes in college). So them kids learn to
read and write in college - it's really neato, as Dude says.

        Here the teachers are even more worried about people's sensitivities because, kids here are no kids anymore - kids in college are adults, so special care must be taken to protect their sensitivities. That's particularly true because we have lots of minorities and the
sensitivities of
the minorities are even more important then the sensitivities of the majorities. But due to the fact that we have so many minorities (Afro- Americans, Asian-Americans, Native-Americans, Latinos - Americans,
East European Americans, Indian-Americans, Vietnam veterans, senior
citizens, junior citizens, non-citizens and aliens, women, women who
haven't always been women, gays, lesbians and sweetly-in-betweens,
disabled, half-enabled, and only temporary-abled), the number of the
majorities is actually much smaller then the number of the minorities, which means that the majority is also a minority, so their sensitivities must
also be
respected, but nobody really cares about the majority.

        Because of that, our History class is very alternative. We didn't
learn about how Columbus discovered America. We have a Cherokee
Indian in our class, his name is Red_Hot_Camaro Dude and he gets very
upset over Columbus, so the teacher decided to skip this chapter
altogether. Also, since we have a puritan in class, we didn't go over the puritans in the early days, 'cause she sez that it offends her
sensibilities.
Also, since we have an Afro-Americans in class, we didn't cover the
slavery period, 'cause that also offends their sensibilities. We did say
though that Martin Luther King is a good guy, and all the whites are bad
guys, so that everyone is happy. I wish we talked more about it since I
never learned what the name of the Queen was. We also skipped  the
Civil War altogether, 'cause we have a guy from New York who gets
upset hearing over Gen. Lee, but Dude gets upset over hearing about the
damn Yankees. Now, the teacher didn't wanna cause no controversery,
you understand, so we didn't talk about that. We learned how to balance checkbooks though, 'cause the teacher sez that it is important to know
how to do that sort of thing.

        In our Geography class we did kinda the same thing, since the teacher sez that Geography is kinda complicated and if we have to
memorize everything, we'd forget it anyhow, so why bother with facts to
begin with. So she sez we have to take more creative approach and
everybody had to tell about where they grew up, so that we can learn
Geography interactively, so to speak, she sez. Dude told how he grew up
in Arkansas, where you have chiken running all over the house and
everybody has a Buick parked in front of the trailer, although not
everybody has a trailer, so the more poor people have to live in shacks.
But it is important to have a Buick, because one must put up an
appearence and keep his head high up, regardless of how poor one is. I
got to say about Bulgaria and the kids asked me intersting questions. One
said, yo'all have elephants in Bolivia? I sez, but of course, in Bulgaria we have lots of elephants. They are a special kind though, that live in the mountains and they're different from the African elephants. Dude sez,
"Cool, dude!" and the teacher sez, "Wow!" and I told 'em all about it. I
sez, in Bulgaria we have what the scientists call Pirinus Mountainis
Elephantus Lilliputus which means "a little elephant form the Pirin
mountains" and in Bulgarian that's called  "malko gorsko slonche-
makedonche". And then Dude sez "Cool, dude, that's really cool!" and the teacher sez "How fascinating!" But Red_Hot_Camaro Dude sez, that's
nothing, dude, in the reservation, where I grew up, me and my daddy
once hunted a UFO, and daddy grabbed her by the horns and tried to
wrestle her down to the ground, but she was a big and strong UFO and
she managed to get away. And he talked about where he grew up and all
that. Real interesting Geography class. Anyhow, I wanna tell you about
the rest of the classes too (all of 'em real alternative), but I don't have time for that now.

        The place here is a small and real southern kinda, but nevertheless
there's plenty of recreational and relaxational oportunities. The best place for a Sturday night to go is WallMart where you can meet many a good
looking gals. You can also get a real good deal on potatoe flakes or
something like that.The other cool place to go is the Church. We have 67 churches - one for each street and all of 'em are Church Of Christ. Dude
goes to church all the time although he ain't like real religious or
anything
like that. So I sez, Dude, how come you go to church and he sez, 'cause
that's where all the babes are. Churches here are real interesting. They
have a VCR inside, a loundry machine and a coke machine so you
worship and relax and recreate yourself simultaniously, which is due to the fact that Americans are always busy, so they try to do few things at the
same time. One goes to church to watch flicks late at night, play
volleyball, have a barbeque and show off with new clothes and stuff, and
learn all the gosip in town. I don't go to church though, cause Church Of Christ just ain't my religion. Instead, I go to WallMart.

        Another good thing to do in college is play sports. Playing sports
is cool. If you play sports, you're cool. If you play sports, in the
cafeteria
you can drink gathorade while everybody else drinks lemonade. Being a
sportsman is just that special! But here sports ain't the same either. For example, kids here play football with their hands, which is due to the fact that they're kinda clumsy, I reckon, so they can't kick very well. Also the ball ain't completely round - I don't know why that is. To play football
here, you also gotta no how to wrestle. It's kinda complicated, so I'm not gonna explain it. I'll just tell you that the fans ain't that smart,
'cause they
don't never know when to cheer. So, in order to remind 'em when to
cheer, they have cheer leaders. Those are good looking blond gals with
short skirts and polka-dot panties and they jump up and down all the time
and yell something like "Go Go All The Way" and look real cheerful, so everybody gets cheered up as well. Meanwhile, Dude and them big guys
run around and bang each other's heads, 'cause that's how they play
football here. Bang a head, run a while, wrestlle a while and then bang a
head again - it's kinda boring. That's why everybody watches them
cheerful gals with the polka-dot panties jumping up and down. ...And it
still ain't that cheerful of an event.

        The other good sport to play in college is baseball. Now that's gonna be real hard to explain since back home we ain't got nothing that's
even close. To make it simple, baseball is when large men in tight pants try
to heat a small ball with a big stick. When they hit the ball, they run
around. When they don't hit the ball (and they don't most times), they just stand around and scratch their groins. That's how baseball is played - you
just have got to scratch your crotch if you wanna be any good. You also
have to chew tobaco and spit. You have got to spit a lot and scratch a lot.
The more you spit and scratch, the better game you have. Yep. Jimmah
also spits and scratches all the time, but he ain't playing. He sez though, that if he plays, he'd twice as good. And then he scratches some more.

        Well, that's all for now.
        Luv ya tenderly,
                Your sonny,

                                                        -= Ivan =-

---
Babes,Booze,Bulgaria

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