Comrade:  cisco3600

   Broad confidence in my ability to soil pillows and set fire to children are assumed by people with no fear of modern science, synthetic genitals, or network television, though this seems to be sexually arousing not just in my own mind but throughout society. Sexual arousal is part of this larger and more inclusive paradigm of social behavior, often called a bit of fun.

   In a sense my own socially challenging novels, such as Horse Dance: When people aren't watching, illustrate the depths of human depravity and the naivety of those people at Disney who still think some people are wholesome. Post-modern filth revels in constructing images on print or film that at first glace cannot "reasonably" be expected to do anything but make you lose your lunch. But then you look again and you're intrigued. Then a little more curious. Then....oh..er...pardon me. Anyway...

   Qualifications to both deep kiss and spank farm animals have long been required in the adult entertainment underworld. This is illustrated by Popper's "Farm Yard Fantasies" by Kuhn's "Feeling Sheepish" and by Lakatos' competing "Bringin' home the Bacon". The formidable challenge to find work in the animal porn industry is even more difficult now, due to the growing interest in the field. I have considered intimate relationships within my own species from time to time and do admit a modicum of curiosity. I'm emotionally and mentally disturbed however, and thus more threatening to humans than I am to animals. In other words: Animals don't press charges.

   Broad confidence in packs of Lady Clairoled-bimbos getting on the collective Republican hog are assumed by the overwhelming majority of practitioners of the most arcane arts of modern science, like that fellow behind you, who always seems to have a bleeding zit somewhere on his face, though this seems to be more of an illusion and a drug-fueled fantasy, not just in the instance at hand, involving the blonde-streaked Irene and the platinum Francesca, but throughout society. Henry Kissinger is part of this larger group of physically disgusting, yet surprisingly well-endowed, group of exploiters.

   In feminist-centric pornographic novels, such as "I'm Getting Off the Hog NOW!" by Marlene Mannish, the principle of celibacy is used to illustrate the discomfort, vaginal itching, potential anal-leakage and the naivety of relying on bedknobs and broomsticks. Post-modern clit-diddling revels in constructing tiny, feathery little swirly things that at first glace cannot "reasonably" be expected to bring even the horniest nymphomaniac to orgasm, but later prove to be the conduit to some of the most intense, explosive world-rockers that most of these women have ever seen.

   Qualifications to both Vaseline-coated buttplugs and battery-operated "Arkansas Razorbacks" have long been required in flagrante delecto by Popper's "Are You On the Hog or Off the Hog?" by Kuhn's "Bend Over and Squeal, Petunia" and by Lakatos' competing "SOOOO-WEEEEE!!!". The hygenic and olfactory challenge to cleaning up afterwards, especially getting rid of that pernicious odor, is even more difficult when put in the context of the combination of rotting fish on a steamy day, hot hogs in heavy usage and "old man smell" however, and thus more threatening to not only a sense of plain decency, but also of simply retaining one's lunch.

    Broad confidence in Pooty Tang are assumed by the modern scientist of modern science, and Viagra share holders, though this seems to be found in the clubs and bars not just in bars and clubs but throughout society. Pooty Tang is part of this larger objective, to score.

    In Romance novels, such as 'Pooty to the 2nd Power' illustrate the depth and the naivety of men on this subject.     Post-modern Club goer, Vanilla Ice revels in constructing an artificial Tang that at first glace cannot "reasonably" be expected to perform as the original.

    Qualifications to both Pooty and Tang have long been required in Governmental jobs by Popper's "the oval office" by Kuhn's "Do me like Monica" and by Lakatos' competing "Cigars: smoke 'em? nah!". The ex president will challenge to any duel that is even more tang however, and thus more threatening to pooty.

    Broad confidence in other words, thinking your ass looks smaller than a hide-a-bed, is an important thing for chicks to have today. "Feminists", which is to say, "ugly chicks" are assumed by most of the frat guys to be only a serious last resort after all of the incoming freshman babes have been soiled. It is a proven fact of modern science, known as "Survival of the Fittest", that no fat-assed chicks will ever win at Survivor. It's possible that some butter-butt dude could win it, though this seems to be a problem with low standards in the gay community, not just in states where fat people live, but throughout society. Raymond Burr is part of this larger problem, believe me.

    In novellizations of soft-core home video release novels, such as "Don't Tell Mom, The Babysitter Gives Head", "The Sluts of Beverly Hills" and "Monkeyboner", they need to include more full-color photos. They could at least illustrate the juicy parts in some kind of wildly exaggerated anime style or something. It would really bring an added element to these classic tales of the virility of long-donged college studs and the naivety of big-chested freshman girls. Post-modern love Bowie sucks. I have a bud who revels in constructing elaborate Ziggy-Stardust-era Bowie costumes that at first glace cannot "reasonably" be expected to get him gang-raped by Hell's Angels, but dude keeps trying.

    Qualifications to both "Beer-bong Maestro" and "Spoof Wingman" have long been required in order to be a member of our highly selective frat house. But for those true of heart and strong of stomach, your every waking day will be enriched by Popper's " incredible door-length beat-off poster collection" by Kuhn's "outrageously easy girlfriend" and by Lakatos' competing "homoerotic tendencies". The ultimate challenge to the true frat legend is even more daunting: to face one's own sexual insecurities. That's what those chicks from the psych department said when me and Ronnie were trying to bag 'em last Saturday night, anyway. That's all head-shrinker mumbo-jumbo however, and thus more threatening to wusses who wouldn't know a Maxim from a Maxima.

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 In gud reeding novels, such as "Fabio Saves Krismus" illustrate the ripped dude on the cuver and the naivety of naives. Post-modern science I got intu Culture Club, who revels in constructing

    Broad confidence in confident broads is a funny turn on words, but really unhelpful. Mysteries of the Unknown are assumed by asses like you and me. While Oingo Boingo sings of modern science, or something like that, though this seems to be a really old song beloved not just in the '80s but well into the very, very early '90s, not just in Danny Elfman's living room but throughout society.  The first ten inches is part of this larger big goddamn cock of mine, oh yeah.

    In Naval novels, such as "A Mighty Surge of Seamen," where the dirty parts illustrate the all the nasty bits quite well in bright colors, while demonstrating the gruff nature of lonely sea captains and the naivety of  cabin boys. Post-modern authors on large bulletin boards with these new Grisham Tacks, or at least what the commercial says while my dog revels in constructing elaborate schemes to catch the neighbor's cat that at first glance cannot "reasonably" be expected to be built by a dog, but it just goes to show you how gullible I am for a talking dog.

    Qualifications to both bump and grind have long been required in all office jobs, or at least the sleazy guy at Kelly Temps told me that. He said "You'll never go anywhere in this town, by Popper's " though honestly I don't know why he was always saying that. He would also say," by Kuhn's " but I think that was quite nasty and he might've been saying something else talking about, as my mother called it, "my loyal privates," and by Lakatos' competing "Wet T-Shirt Contest" I eventually found work in "The Big Sleazy." The Pepsi challenge to  almost all of us is even more serious than they take it on the commercials, we even hold grudges and attack each other while we sleep, however, and thus more threatening to all of us was the Burger King Vs. the Big Mac debate, which actually caused one of us to take a life a few years ago. Nobody's talking.

    Broad confidence in the abilities of incredibly dumb broads, against all evidence are assumed by the arm-chair quarterbacks of modern science, to be a side effect of being exposed to large, luscious breasts, though this seems to be not the case for guys who drive Miatas not just in the Bay Area, but throughout society. This just in: the nipple is part of this larger breast-thing.

    In women's skin novels, such as "The Swashbuckling Sensitive Rich Guy"  illustrate the many different ways Fabio can be posed, and the naivety of  fantasy-laden lonely women. Post-modern cereals, the makers of "Nihilist Nothing Nuggets" revels in constructing office buildings made completely of sugar that at first glance cannot "reasonably" be expected to withstand the 2% milk tsunami.

    Qualifications to both vacuum-repair genius and a masters in cross-stitch have long been required in order to graduate at the top of one's class from a correspondance school. On that hot summer day, the women and children of the neighborhood were mortified by Popper's "Dangling Moose," by Kuhn's "Drooping Tulip," and by Lakatos' competing "Exposed Dick." The Pepsi challenge to people with no higher brain functions whatsoever is even more challenging than maintaining a healthy social life, however, and thus more threatening to the fantasies of the aforementioned lonely dull women.

    Broad confidence in spite of having your ass kicked daily by a pack of underfed third-graders is an almost sure sign that you're Baltimore-area loser Tom Friendly. Most 34-year-olds who are beaten up by small children for their lunch money on a daily basis are shunned in soceity, but Tom is working to change the public's perceptions of victimhood. Tom's pathetic whimpers during these attacks are assumed by locals to be either the sound of a dog making it with a suitcase, or a manatee being eaten by a raccoon. But thanks to the sophisticated, high-tech equipment now available to the lab-jockeys of modern science, it has been made possible to decode these strange sounds as actually being the pathetic chant "Don't break my glasses please don't break my glasses!" repeated in a whiney tone by Friendly himself. Tom works at Balooga Bagels, where his co-workers, manager and even the customers show their support by flicking Tom's ears and deep-frying Tom's keys when he's on break. Tom is grateful for their support, though this seems to be  a battle that Tom knows will need more than just regional support. Tom maintains that the phenomena of small-child-on-adult violence is an American epidemic not just in the path of his route to work, but throughout society. Tom's co-workers expressed their agreement by blowing milk out of their noses and nodding emphatically while rocking back and forth in laughter. It seems that the frequent yanking of Tom's trousers down around his ankles during the lunch rush is part of this larger show of support for Tom's fight.

    In other news, Cornell University researchers have made a ground-breaking discovery today. After years of research, it has been determined that "Choose Your Own Adventure" novels, such as "Spanky Tate's Bad Day", "The Crystalline Chalice-Goblet Elf-Blade", "Tough As Nails: Army Medics", "The Berenstein Bears Go to Prague", "Cindy Puts Out", "Gnome-lord of Magicalumet", and "The Diaper-Time Duo" can easily be subverted by flipping to the back of the book, finding the ending that is most desirable, and following the trail of "Turn to Page..." instructions back to the beginning. This is the latest in a series of discoveries that illustrate the poor security measures undertaken by the publishers in question. This is a discovery with widespread implications, as it is projected that this may very well end the epidemic of school-aged children meeting Indiana-Jones-style deaths and Cornell researchers will no longer remain frozen in the Elf Gardens. It is expected that soon, readers everywhere will take advantage of this oversight and the naivety of authors who once thought their works to be set in stone, by editing and supplementing their books at will. Reports from the field indicate that High School students in Maine have already made David Copperfield a "big gay fag" and school children in Illinois are playing fast and loose with Clifford the Big Red Dog's future adventures. Post-modern authors have become especially terrified that Clifford or even the sassy cartoon cat Garfield may be popping up in their novels in the future. One second-grader in Peoria revels in constructing Richard Scary-style "Busytown" worlds right in the midst of a copy of Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead" that he got from the library, and a copy of "Mein Kampf" that he found under his brother's bed. Some literary critics have argued that a character like Huck Finn, that at first glance cannot "reasonably" be expected to  stop in the middle of his wryly comic coming-of-age to waste the rest of the town's residents with a Gruebel Military-assault rifle loaded with illegal carbon-tipped rounds in a Stephen-King-style bloody showdown and massacre, might be better left unrevised, but later decided "what the hell" and that they never much liked that book anyway.

    Qualifications to both conservation groups and koala-bear enthusiasts are seen as cruel and unnecessary as many suitable materials exist for reinforcing structures such as steel and concrete. Hundreds of dead koalas, sold regionally by the bushel, have long been required in the construction of the average Australian home. Koalas frequently chew through power lines and telephone wires, resulting in Australia's notoriously unreliable infrastructure and the vague smell of burnt koala in the air. Australia's population of over 2 kerbillion koalas are kept down to these reasonable numbers by Popper's "Apeshit Smashing Sledgehammer Truck," by Kuhn's "Eucalyptus-shaped H-Bombs," and by Lakatos' competing "Pit with Spikes." The mammoth population of koalas are not unwelcome, however. They both provide the locals with something to shoot at when they're bored, and provide the McDonald's corporation with millions of pounds of meat decoy. They do, however, prove to be a challenge to tourists, as koalas frequently eat the clothes off of the slow-moving and have been known to strip a car of it's paint in minutes. The danger of having a koala crawl up out of your toilet is even more terrifying, but thankfully this is an event that occurs only in drunken bar stories. Their predilection toward taking up permenant residence in one's pants is well-documented, however, and thus more threatening to those who are embarassed by threatening, koala-shaped bulges in their trousers.