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In This Issue

• Kicking Your Hamster in its Teeth
• X-treme Zoos Target Market
• Resurrecting the Chili Cheese Burrito
• Sonic in Bad Shape
• Journey into the Land of the Leopards
• Finding Boys Into Whom to Put Love
• Lions and Tigers and Bears, Go Buy!
• Murder Spree Continues
• Art With Dead Mice
• Puppy Love, the Wrong Way
• 19th Century Nursery Rhyme!
• Tender Moments with Bill and Reona
• Bibu the Baby Elephant
• Rob's Relationship Corner
• Marauding Interviewer: What's Your Spirit Animal?
• THEY WATCH
• Letters to the Feditor
• Thyroid Boy
• Interspecies Intellectual Masturbation
• Stickman Theatre

Matt Holden

Ed Rueda

As long as I can remember, I have always loved animals. Maybe it all started with the unicorn folders I used to collect in grade school, or the dolphin necklaces I would purchase from twenty-five cent machines. Or maybe it was just the look in a puppy's eyes that made me a life-long fan of the animal kingdom.

When I was growing up my family had a lot of pets. We had a goldfish and a parakeet and a ferret (until the state took him away) and a dog and two cats. I remember when I used to feed little flakes to our goldfish, Vincent, and he would make his little fish mouth and I would try to make a fish mouth too. And then every once in a while I would wonder what it would be like if our fish lips touched.

The parakeet was fun too because he talked like a human and I could teach him to say things. I think one of my brothers taught that crazy bird, Sade, to say, "I love you." He would always say it to me whenever I cleaned his doody off the newspapers in his cage. He was so cute when he said that! Sometimes when I lay in bed at night I would rub out my special cramps and think about the sweet words of that dear bird, letting his verbal love lull me to sleep.

My parents always made me walk the dog because they wanted to teach me responsibility. But I wonder if, maybe, they also wanted to teach me to admire his huge, beautiful cock. I was glad to walk the dog, give him some fresh air and let him go pee-pee. I remember on one warm summer evening, I was wearing cute purple sandals and watching Osterberg the Woofers make the ground yellow when I got too close and his number one got on my foot. At first I thought it was weird, but then I realized that Osterberg always pee-peed on trees and plants and flowers and these are the most beautiful things nature has to offer. And I am a beautiful part of nature, too, so why shouldn't I let Osterberg turn my red nail polish a little yellow? It's only nature's way.

When I was little I never understood why Jamie and Jesse were called "pussy" cats. But when I became older and wiser and started bleeding unused baby balls out of my loins I realized it was because felines felt more comfortable up my vagina (sometimes it is called a "pussy") than any other place in the world. So when I felt lonely because my family went skiing and left me home-citing that I was too fat to ski-I was happy to give those kitties a home. There's nothing like bringing some comfort into the lives of a few animals to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, literally.

When the animal-haters from the ASPCA took away my ferret they robbed me of one of my first real friends. After long middle school days of people shooting spitballs at me or pouring chocolate milk on my clothes, I would always come home and find Levi the Ferret waiting for me in the dungeon. He would always wear this cute little leather facemask I bought him, and sit waiting for me to poopy on his face and ready to help me wipe with his tongue. And when he wasn't up for it I just told him about how bad my day was. He always listened to me and sometimes I think I even saw him cry. That is a real friend. Like Snoopy said in one of his best lines to Woodstock: "A true friend is one who knows all your flaws and loves you for it anyway and cries and lets you
wipe your huge asshole with him."

Six years ago, I asked my dad to buy me a pony, but he said that our family couldn't afford to feed him as long as they were going to have to keep on feeding me, so I totally lost a lot of weight. My dad agreed to pay for all the oats and barley once I could afford to buy a horsey. Last month, I finally saved up enough from sweeping at Wal-Mart to buy Rocky. I don't have a stable yet so he has to sleep with me, but as long as the oats and barley keep coming from my dad and enormous-cock fellatio keeps coming from me, I know he won't mind. We sleep tight all night; that is, when we do sleep. And I assure you, after a few weeks with Rocky, there's nothing tight about it.

After looking back on my eighteen years of unyielding admiration and respect for animals, I don't really know where my love comes from, but I know where it's headed: the animal hospital. Yes, that's right, I found out a few days ago that I'm preggers and Rocky and I are going to have a beautiful baby colt! Wish me luck and God bless all you two-legged and four-legged friends.