Welcome to "short-bus degenerates," the latest in the long line of projects of Lettuce Head. But let's not dwell on the past, but more so on the present. For anyone who has read any of my projects in the past, this one might seem completely different, or maybe it will seem the same. Even as I am writing this introduction here, I have no idea of what I will be writing about, or who will be writing with me in this text group. Needless to say, I have a feeling that this will be a whole lot better than the stuff that I wrote during the CGA days, CGA being my previous text group... standing for "Certified Goat Academia." I hope that you will not be expecting a kinder, gentler Lettuce, though. I might come through as such at times, but I hope to still be writing the kind of heartless stories that made me a lot of friends (and enemies).

Thanks for keeping me alive, and for supporting me in my efforts: Joseph Genero, Patrick Morris, Rusty Richardson, Logan Rich, and to many other people with names like Corey, Lisa, Jeff, Jackie, Lee (don't be expecting that Mindless Self Indulgence video back anytime soon... sure you taped it, but I am the one who interviewed Little Jimmy Urine....), Billy (Rusty made me leave that message on your cell phone.... and by the way, please don't follow the instructions in that song, please.... NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!), Glenn (I am sorry that I was so drunk at your record store... but I can't promise that I won't do it again...), Blade (maximum pennis? Where in the HELL did you guys come up with that idea? It was funny as fuck!), Josh (sure I was drunk, but why did you guys feed me dog food?), and to many other memorable people who I just can't remember!

Ok, now we shall touch base with an old friend of mine, Skyler. Back in the days of the original CGA, he wrote under the name of Arachnid. You can blame him as well as me for CGA. This is the pilot for his new monthly column.

I was asked by a certain Head of Lettuce I know to start submitting a weekly or monthly column to him. See, me and Lettuce Head come from way back, when you had to rig your power supply to your car battery just to turn your computer on, and 16 colors was good the fuck enough. I'm cursed with a couple hippy parents who consumed more dope than birth control and named me Skyler, so that's why you're asking Skyler and not Jim or Bob or someone whose name doesn't have a stick in its ass. FUCK YOU. Not my parents, you. FUCK YOU. Bitch. But like I was sayin, I'm supposed to write this article. My problem is, if it's an Ask column, I have to have questions first. Fuckin lettuce, fuckin stoned ass drunk fuckin ugly bitch humping nuts-in==my-fucking-=ass=-cause--I-have-=no=-audience dry banging fucking rectum slut, why don't you have any questions for me? FUCK YOU. NOT LETTUCE. FUCKIN- YOUR ASS YOU FUCKIN NYMPHOANAL RECTAL BEAST. FUCK YOU. God fuckin damn.
wait, oh.     shit.       sorry.
Well whatever. I'll talk about women, sex, note that previous two are really the same, drugs, h/p/v/a/c (hahaha), trivia, or Lettuce's anus. It's up to you. one of you squeaky clits had better email me though, or we'll analate a virgin on site. Then I'll have something to talk about. But don't write me up thinkin you've got a penis, or anything. If you respond, you admit complete submission. Cause I was tokin and jokin when you were just a stain in your momma's thong.

You don't have the rectal sheep that makes me bored. Neither do you have the radio-bong that floats in the air. Maybe you could fill your goat with helium, but I will fill a cow with hydrogen and light it on fire. Poof into the sky like a tripping dust bunny goes the rotting vegetables of the straight-edge hippies, who cannot comprehend the full beauty of the upside-down trees on the mayflower. My cat told me all of the secrets of the ageing nectar walrus, that passed away in a nudist camp. Maybe Jesus was really a naked wombat that streaked through the streets for our sins. Maybe our sins are positivitly synthetic guano. Purely spoke the sheets that were hung on the clothes line to die. Purely was the guava that got saturated with urine during the last rain. My floor is the center or gravity, but I can only float. Does the rain scream about robots that rape the elderly? Does the flying dildo lend a helping hand to the perverted farmer? Will the frost ever melt the lady's thoughts, as she melts into a kalidoscope of mother earth? I fear that I will never know.

Hello, everybody, this is Lettuce, as I guess that you have already figured out..... probabally since this article is entitled "Thinking with Lettuce." As always, I have no idea what I am going to write about yet. I merely come up with the title, then I build from there. Since this is a first issue, I guess that I have free reign. Well, the first though that has popped in my head is.... what the fuck? I am thinking "what the fuck" because I am truely befuddled. What is fucking with my head, you might ask? Well, I guess that I shall have to clue you in, dear readers. Have you checked out McDonalds "supersize" size that you can upgrade your combos to? Fucking huge, right? Well, if that is not bad enough, Burger King has gone and done the same thing. Their "king size" upgrade is mammoth! What I want to know is: What is going on here? Is America really becoming fatter? Do people just want more food? Is this population control? I can see this... give most of the Unites States' population coronarys by age 30 and we'll have a drastic decrease in population density. Hmmm.... I dunno.

Forward marches the penguin. Can you see the penguin? He seems to be melting at the moment, so we'll have to check up on him at a later time. Why do you look so frightened? Would you have expected different? Would you have expected the penguin to bark, meow, then puke on your dinner? I surely expected less, yet more then what I have been given. A twenty-five goat and ninety horse choir with a bovine alter boy that merely dances around and beeps like a rotting computer would be somewhat of the variety that was needed here. Melting penguins were uncalled for, and somewhat innappropriate for mature audiences. Gothic crows dress in black. I once remembered a crow that danced in a blender, and a pidgeon that practiced ballet in a microwave. Alkaseltser has not been recommended by the FDA to cure stomach ailments in ducks. The FDA stands for Fuckers Doing Animals. Or was it Foriegn Dick Aligners? It is all up to you. Can you taste the waste? Ween surely could, but too much coke has blurred their horizons. Why must all good things come to an end? Why must all bad things last? Coffee is effective bladder control for wombats. I surely thought that you would find this to be of interest. Grandma's in the bathroom after eating too many shrooms. Nine out of ten former child stars prefer crack cocaine to careers. Would a high IQ be even higher when high? Hi said the twenty feet high beast who was rather high. I don't like this stuffy room, it smells like former child stars in here. Or does it smell like crack cocaine? They both smell the same. They both walk hand in hand, and die sooner than later. I fear the coming weeks. They all instill fear in my being.

Help me, I fell into a septic tank. I want out. Could I possibly get an egg in my brain? I feel people honking at my ears. My nose has bled for eight weeks in a row. I don't want to die in a liver. Neither do I want to die in Liverpool. My cute bunnies go ribbit. Can you repeat after me? Ribbit. I knew you could do it. How many sex changes do donkeys get in their lifetimes? Is it time yet to lie down to the final sleep? I wish that I had someone to put their arms around me when I feel down, but I don't. I only have myself, and that isn't enough. My cute bunnies ribbit again. I am still pondering my existance. I hate this world. The only love I ever receive is from my cute bunnies. My cute bunnies ribbit once more. I can't forcast the weather, and I can't sculpture leather. I try to sleep, but I am awakened by my bunnies. My cute bunnies continue to ribbit. Is there a fire, a gas leak, or possible a peeping tom? My bunnies are hiding the answer from me. I might look forward to the sun-down, but do I really care? My cute bunnies meow. My cat is jealous. My cat devours my cute bunnies in a rage. Now my cat goes ribbit.

It's time to leave, so once again, I will ask you to remove your CGA Goggles that came with that box of CGA's Clitty Crunch Cereal. You know, those goggles that transport you to the world of CGA. Just keep them close by, though, because SBD shall return, and next time's gonna be a charm. Just be ready to once again to transport your mind to a mongloid state as CGA and SBD bring you more brain rotting mind laxatives. I thank anyone who took the time to enjoy this, and just remember that Senor Lettuce will be back to bring you more of the stuff that you love! Since this is a first issue, I want everyone who reads this to send your comments to CultLeaderLett@Hotmail.Com Until we meet again:
Adios,
Lettuce