On Fri, 17 Mar 2006 11:40:34 -0500, in a place far, far away, "I"
made the phosphor on my monitor glow in
such a way as to indicate that:

"Brad Guth" screamed:

Is this the very best Usnet ****ology that your incest buttology can
muster?

Hmmm, with Brad's limited vocabulary, can you imagine what it must be like at the Guth household?.....

"Dinner is ready, dear! Are you coming?"

"NO! I have to tell off these brown-nosed minions of ****ology!"

"Um, that's nice dear... but your dinner is getting cold..."

"Dammit woman, I smell butt cheeks... are you part of their spookologist conspiracy now?"

"No dear, we're having pork chops, your favorite!"

"Don't naysay me woman! I wrote the book on buttology! I smell crapola!"

"No dear, I just burnt the biscuits a little. Dear, did you take your meds today?"

"Don't give me that third-reich MIB crapola! Just slide my dinner under the door!"

"O.k., honey... by the way, what would you like for breakfast in the morning?"

"Scrappola! With two incest-cloned eggs, conspiracy-side-up!!!!"

Actually, I can see the makings of a hit sitcom here.

"That's My Brad"