“The next batch of FakeFacts is due to Penny Bettis in a week. Landlord Pete will be knocking on the door soon, too. Whither all my bank, Catamounts? Rent, utilities, a fifth of Old Overholt, a few tacos, boom! (Message to the Old Overholt folks: How about a case of your fine rye for this excellent product placement in Catamount Notes?) But I’m not bitter. It’s my bed and I’m going to make it. If I’ve learned anything it’s that you must bide your time until your time comes, knowing full well, of... course, your time may never come. That’s the bitch about biding it. These FakeFacts are killing me, though. When I agreed to this gig I figured the possibilities for cola mythography were endless. Maybe they are, maybe it’s me who’s reached the frontiers of invention. I’m no genius, after all, just sorry-ass Teabag. But still, ever since I started writing these updates I’ve felt this godly hum in the gut. It’s all I’ve got. Maybe it beats what Stacy Ryson has, which is two hundred-odd pounds of pud-headed malevolence to call Honeycakes, or such appeared to be the case the last time I saw her at the River Mall.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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