Vol II, issue iv

What makes you so fiuckin sure? No, reallly.  What makes you so fuckin sure?

Vol II, issue iii

The white sage smoke billows through the open door and weaves its way through the prayer flags hanging above the porch. The cat languishes. The fermented meat cures in My stomach. The weed smoke and 'iron cross', (4 parts vodka, 1 part Becherovka, on rocks), course through the head. All is not well. Soon there must be morphine.

Now you'll all start howling and carryying on about how The Pisstaker has changed and isn't what He used to be. Fuck you. Galley-washing scallywags. Stupid horde of drastics.

Do they carry Pedi-Files in the foot care depsrtment? Suck my dizzy-wick, bitch. It seems to be working normally, which is to say not very well.

But We digress! This week's award! This week's awrd goes to...wait for it...Caryn Flanagin! Best artistic director of any regional theatre in Wyoming! Let's all give it up for Caryn! How otherwise would any of us ever know how seriously to take things?

The desolation of the post-apocalyptic period will be a dreamscape. It will be sublime and romantic, like living a movie or video game, finally interesting and entertaining. Of course,that's easy to say right now. When it happens one might feel somewhat differently about it.

Embrace turmoil, shitbirds! She's a Snip off the Old Bitch!

Vol II, issue ii

Heidi Ho, Shitbirds!

What is better than sitting on your very own toilet in your very own apartment in Jackson, Wyoming, shooting heroin, wearing nothing but a 75th anniversary Recluse Island tennis shirt? Nothing. Well, maybe wearing nothing at all. And sodomising Herr Versteckt with a Zulu warrior doll. No, sodomising Frau Versteckt with a Zulu warrior doll. Tss-ss-ss-ss.

How would it make Chekhov feel if a revolver appeared on stage and was not fired? He couldn't very well walk out, could he, because he'd have to wait until the end of the show. Stupid bitch.

Can you smoke too much opium? Do you O.D., or juyst pass aut?

Questions, questions. There are so many questions, and not enough answers.

The Pisstaker looks forward to the Post-Apocalypse. The desolation will be sublime, like a dreamscape. Life will finally be interesting. It will be...romantic. Like in a movie or a video game. Everyone dreads the apocalypse, but The Pisstaker embraces it - right now. Maybe The Pisstaker will feel differently when it happens.

Oh, and if it were raining. With the heroin and toilet and Recluse Island tennis shirt. That would be better. If it was raining.

This week's award. Hmm. OK, this week's winner is...wait for it...Summer. Give it up for summer. The only good thing about summer is that women wear less clothing. Nothing else is good about horrible, horrible summer.

The Dutch language is like a six-year-old's interpretation of German.

If I lived each day as if it were my last, I would be locked up almost immediately. If not shot.

I hate your cunt, so I put my dick in your ass.

Good night, love children.

Vol II, issue i

It just isn't that big of a whoop. Don't gitcher panties in a knot.

Miserable fucking suummer. Even here in Cloudcuckooland the pain...becomes intolerable. [Heliuuuuuuuuuuuuuum!] My only remaining pleasure is dubitable.

Mr. Nik left a liter og shitty Vodka in the freezer. Damn your eyes, Mr. Nik. this is good for at least this week's award. Give it up for Mr. Nik! For leaving a liter of shitty vodka in the freezer.

So, The Pisstaker says this Norsky fucker got nothing on US. Deadliest domestic terrorist gun attack? Oh, and how long will it take Homespun totop that shit? maybe thirty motherfucking seconds, Jack. Bitch. Sitcha 2 dollar ass down fo I make change, bitch.

OK, things are getting weird now. In the jungle the lion sleeps tonight. I don't know, i don't know.

I guess it just isn't that big of a whoop.

VOL I, issue iii

I want a guitar I can fuck. A guitar with an inflatable body with a vaginal socket with which coitus can be acheived whilst playing. I've tried sticking my dick in the sound hole, but it just getts in the way of the strings with its massive girth. You don't want to come in there, either. Leaves an unsightly build-up. Just not recommended by the folks at Martin, either.

Mr. Nik definitely got the worst of the last rubber band war. He did actually go for the head shot, which certainly earned some balls points, but I landed way more lethal shots to the chest cavity and groin. Good, spirited combat with lots of lingering welts. You haven't lived 'til you've been on the receiving end of a rubber band shot from the muzzle of a truly inspired rubber band marksman. Fucker. Ha!

The Pisstaker spends far too much time brushing His teeth and washing dishes. The Pisstaker is going to begin hurling His dirty dishes through the evil neighbor's window. He is going to let His mouth fester and stink. Then he's going to get even drunker.

This week's award! Hurrah for this week's award! It is a very special award this week. It is a "joint" award. This week's award goes to...wait for it...All the motherfuckers in Jackson who complain about snow! Fuck y'all, seriously. Anyone who doesn't like snow and lives in Jackson has , by definition, some major fuckin issues. Take this ball and run with it, Gump, cause y'all sure deserve it more than anyone ever did.

They say we're all actors. They say we're all acting, all the time. But I'm acting differently.

If you haven't already, you shits and cunts, you must try the Samuel Adams Noble Pils. They really nailed this one. washes down the $11 bourbon very nicely indeed.

If anyone in this town knows where to score bulk heroin, please contact The Pisstaker discreetly.

There is no order .

When the piss bubblres burst, they make ripples in the toilet water.

0 please, just don't hurt the guitars.

Why does it stop? but The Pisstaker digresses....

Ah, another martini night. Not quite two in a row, but about s close as can be. Mhph.

OK, looks like The Pisstaker is obliged to "wing it", (so He is told). The notes have been misplaced. Mhph.

The storm clouds gather on the easternhorizon. An erstwhile copilot descends upon Jackson. Saints preserve us, saints preserve us. Stand by for further details.

Why are there no decent fucking drugs in this town (outside of the herb, which is amazing)? All one hears is how much opia Afghanistan is pumping into the market. Yeah? Where's fucking mine? Fuckers. It's all them fucking Russians hoogging it all. Fuckers. Mhph.

OK, this week's award. Goes to...wait for it...The Ski Prophet. Yes, tis despicable shitheel implied that skiers can't act. (Or was it that actors can't ski?) Shitheel.

OK, form up on your wingman and carry on.

Vol I, issue ia

Oh, and drugs. Really good drugs. Nothing is better than really goood drugs. Like alcohol. Or heroin. Alcohol is probabkly my favorite really goood drug.

Love,

The Pisstaker