Through McMuffin and Venison hurls, came the congregation once again. Huddled masses from all points that thee compass , er, ah...points. Gathered to celebrate the Edge's crossing from wiry, Kmart model to full-fledged, wiry man-boy.

HE was with us again. Risen from HIS Minneapolis tomb. Pushing back the stone and shining cherub light onto HIS followers. Whom will HE touch this year with his hollow toe? Whom will HE lay HIS burning lips of love and wonderment upon thy winner's brow? Actually they were laid upon the same Quanto hiding mutherfucker as the last 2 years! 

Even with massive transcaping and the rendering of thou nether regions, wampumbitchez were still nowhere to be found. Only a wet rat love blanket and fuzzy calls of a loon. 

By the patch of chimp and Le tour de Poutine, remember for next year:WWCD?

The Nez Pierce natives returned to their mecca, with the messiah in swaddling clothes. Again, nature performed buggery upon the launch of the warboats, however the cherry-popping bass signaled a fruitful weekend. Within a simian vacuum, 50 beasties were captured. Some had the pleasure of mixing with the natives acidic stew and dope box breath. Others had plans for future gill reconstructive surgery.



Meade-fueled haberdashery rounded the fire circle as each native reminisced about their dreams of melching and show of strength with arc of stove. Beware cast-toting womanfolk!

One song of praise erupted from a frenzied believer:

"Oh the Lord (Chimpanjesus) is good to me
and so I thank the Lord( Chimpanjesus),
for giving me the things I need ( KranK'd, see first paragraph, bass, Maxim, Bronson Pinchet)
the Sun ( 1 day), the Rain ( 2days) and the appleseed ( I may have smoked that one)
The Lord ( Chimpanjesus) is good to me,
Johnny Appleseed( Porn star?), Amen!



Hark! A miracle was witnessed as each cloth of chimpanjesus wept with red tears signalling the annual departure of penal colony scrubs( "Put another lamb on the barbie"), Mennonite blood dopers ( "Mennonites- Humble, except when it comes to blood doping.") and twin town fairies("End of the advertising revenue bad dog radio.")

"Chimpanjesus cold!Chimpanjesus cold!" belted the young savior to anybody who would listen in the dark cellar of his prison.

The ides of October are upon us, and the chosen one has been bereft of miracles and magic. Present in spirit, when the board members attended their annual gigfest, his powder touch opened their eyes to the spine-tingling pleasures of little pills.

Cacophonous ether and burning skulls paved the road with it's ebbs and flows, dragging the members forward. Cartoon asses with Ziggy imprints, part of a nutricious breakfast.

Our little angel came upon us in shining glory one early summer afternoon amidst the dusty pastures of a Minneapolis thrift store. Hidden from the hustle and bustle of the acid-washed clothing racks and the one-hit wonder( or one-armed drummer) CD bins, he had toiled for years in his anointed vocation of blessing those who purchased and praised him.

Within the environs of a quiet, northern lake his power became apparent. Like spiritual drool dripping from his simian lips, he bestowed a viscous thread of fish towards whom boat he was situated in. Spiny friend after spiny friend engorged themselves upon the glittering promises of a new and easy meal. His power was omnipotent.

There is, like most power-mongering gods, a grayer side to his being. Through 3 nights of fire, mead, Doritos, The Cobra Stove , Incline Grill ( "It'll surprise you like my left") and DJ Praying Mantis, his vices of bass, smokes and pornography arose. Wanton disregard for the "Goodwill" scriptures he had devised and preached were horrific, yet secularly humorous. He became "one of the gang", a virtual Spanky but with no clothes or beanie cap. Just wings and a prayer or two.

This is the historically accurate synopsis of our thrift store prophet: Chimpanjesus.