Tailor with an Attitude By The Toasty-Fried Co-Op
		I wept profusely over sewing, because I had a hard time getting the needle through my thread. If sewing is so easy, then why does my fabric look jumpy? I am sick of sewing. I wish to make thermoses out of fabric, is that unreasonable?      You'd think I would stop, but not right now. Instead, I'll melt butter over your cambric. You'll see! If velour makes good friends with you, then who associates with you? Not many! You're probably diseased. I've never questioned that idea! I think it's silly!      You're nervous, aren't you? Of course you are! I'm going to sew you a nice, comfortable orange-coloured indestructible muzzle out of festive canvas and elastic gummi-worms. You'll find it quite different, but not unsoothing, fool! Don't screw this up, ninny, or I'll push a pin into your petulant scalp. Wear my muzzle, or your name will be unknown! I'll take action, and force your eyes to see my movie of muzzle-adorned gerbils frolicking amongst Bedouin crocodiles.      If movies offend you, you'll deal with it, or plaster of Paris will be placed around you, and you'll face my demonic pleasures beneath a singer named NEEDLES. Boy, don't your hackles seem to mean nothing now! Thread between your laces, you know, means you've been doing bad-bad!      I'm the worst tailor you ever saw. Don't make me angry, or I'll stitch-witch your little toes to mine and call you 'Sweetheart". Sewing is suspenseful, ain't it?      Ingmar Bergman once asked me to design his gown. I refused. I don't do drag. My nephew does imitations of drag queens in Tokyo. I don't. If you see him, tell him that he looks ridiculous.      Now, I'll take measurements of your finger for a puppet. My puppets are made for various movies which star puppets. Linda Blair marionettes are background. The strings are threaded by my nephew, who still wears gowns, despite his lack of dexterity. Gay colors abound.      Fetch them a batch of porcine sugar-cookies, then we'll get a big polar bear drunk and make lewd suggestions about his culinary habits, and he'll sing Verdi. I love castratti. Especially from the muzzled victims that enter my tailor-shop during hunting season.      Singer, NEEDLES, wrote an article about my nephew for 'Playboy', but they referred him to 'National Lampoon'. It occurred during my constitutional visit to Norway. 'McCalls' gave me two tickets to their operatic convention because they had read about NEEDLES' love for opera. NEEDLES gave me a copy of his pornographic article, and I read it aloud to a housewife who taught strip-tease to nuns.      Sewing is difficult, huh, especially in surroundings like these. I'm going to sew it up.                                                     The End
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