TIP and Your Pal, Jim: Excerpts from an Exchange


TIP

I tell ya...that JabWad is a Real rabble rouser.

I thought for sure I'd have to break out the tear rags for some folk.

YPJ

Yeah, that guy felt real strongly about... er... whatever the fuck it was he was trying to say.

TIP

Let's say you like Steve Unctuous and I like Steve Unctuous II. Now...my liking of the latter does not play into your liking of the former. When we compare the Unctuous Clan Scribblers with one another we enter a domain that some (outside of said clan) refer to as the Un-Unctuous Conundrum-a-lum-dum-dee-dum-dee-Doo-Dom...a theorized Zone of Positive and Negative Sentient Like-forms.

We will refer to these theorized residents of the Un-Unctuous Conundrum-a-lum-dum-dee-dum-dee-Doo-Dom as Lawrence and Rebecca.

And so on and so forth.

YPJ

Don't bring up Mr. Unctuous unless you are prepared for me to discuss at length how awesome he actually would be on the imaginary project you invented for him to write.

Comparisons should never be used to compare things, only to illustrate that there can be no comparisons, ipso facto/visa-vie the Unctous-bashers who lunge out of the shadows everytime their beloved Unctous II gets less-than-gushing remarks.

Meanwhile, ol' Purple Face wants to fall sideways until he can even out. But Kevin put a box around THAT turd! Fool be wearing the photographic evidence where he should be paying fitty cent an armpit! Birds don't got no walkin' shoes! Meanwhile, in Chicago, Steadman Graham stares at the plush carpet and wonders, "When's gonna be MY time, O Lord?"

TIP

That's the pointed end of the pickle in relation to the comparativeliness of this theorized collision of the Pro/Anti Unctuous and Pro/Anti Unctuous II that the late Shepherd Lionelly of the Papooze Grapplers often pondered...scritching these musings into the soil of his extensive lea, where the waste of his flock would often smear and muddy them into a miasmic pool of Pure Imagination.

It's at this Biscuit point that the Unctuous Fellows often came to blows...like Two Overgrown Noam Chomsky Impersonators--clad in Footie Pajamas/Cardboard Jetpack ensembles-- bleating heavenward while being backed over repeatedly with a Like-Mobile driven by the aforementioned Lawrence and Rebecca.