(this is the item where Carson! resumes his relentless pursuit and
humiliation of the cross-dressing, cow-leg-humping, spineless, yellow- 
bellied chicken known as senna.  those unprepared to witness such events
are advised to move along in blissful ignorance.  you have been warned.)

32 responses total.

(it's back.)

(truth be told, like herpes, it never really went away.  sure, it was
mostly out of sight, out of mind.  but the telltale signs were there.  
an ebola outbreak here, a Canadian gold medal there...  the evidence was
plainer than my last date.)

(senna was still out there.  and, like all potential foodstuffs, if left
out long enough, it goes bad.  very bad.)

(by all rights, senna should have been eliminated a long time ago.  in
fact, if it weren't for a grievous error of judgment, it would have
already been eliminated.  I had it cornered, right next to the postage
machine at Meijer's.  I can only suspect that it was preparing to make
Sacagaweas out of Susan B's.  I was all set to wipe it out, but there were
too many innocents nearby.  in that moment, I had to make a decision:  let
senna escape and hope to catch it again in a less populated area, or wipe
it out now and create the largest chemical spill since Captain Hazlewood
went on a bender.  every subsequent event now weighs heavily on my
conscience.) 

(now, instead of merely being the monster in a tale told several years
later to terrorize my puppies' puppies at bedtime, senna has become a
grade-A menace.  of course, it's the only time senna has ever earned 
an "A" grade.  that's a future Trivial Pursuit question for sure.) 

(senna has grown over the last year.  it is now estimated to weigh an
entire 99 pounds when wet.  hazmat teams are terrified of being called
anywhere near its location.  deer leap in front of cars so as to avoid
having their legs humped.  Fox won't mention it on "America's Most
Wanted."  even Canada, which is used to having giant, filthy,
unapproachable beasts hiding out in its wilderness, hopes senna won't come
back.)

(there's no hiding now, senna.  I will track you to the remotest,
filthiest places on earth, and I will track you outside of New Jersey,
too.  prepare to become a yellow gelatinous smear on whatever piece of
pavement I find you.)

Backsliding again?  The really pitiable thing about carson is that it always
tempts the same humiliation over and over, expecting different results.  There
is a scientific term for this--however, I am feeling merciful, and I won't
disturb carson's already fragile psyche with words longer than three
syllables.  

It's been a difficult life for carson, sleeping in roadside ditches, begging
for assistance from homeless people who look like they have a few extra pieces
of garbage, always looking over its shoulder.  The long months since that
fateful encounter at Meijer have not done carson well.  I remember it clearly,
a crisp friday evening at the U-Scan station.  I knew carson was coming, of
course, his smell wafting in through the door shortly after his vehicle
crossed the '94 bridge.  It took a while for him to see me, however, and we
first became aware that he knew of my presence when we heard a horrified
screech followed by prolonged wailing.  That porcelain-shattering utterance
destroyed half of the housewares department, we discovered later.  

I assigned a cashier to relieve me, so I could locate the mutt.  I found it
curled into the fetal position, quivering in fear as it tried to hide itself
under the grocery conveyor.  "Carson," I said, "I'm afraid you're going to
have to leave the store."  Fresh wailing ensued, a noise that can be best
described as a cross between fingernails on a chalkboard and a newborn
suffering circumsision.

"Please don't hurt me!" cried carson.  "I'll do anything, just dont' come near
me!  I'm so sorry for dating your neighbor's beagle!  I won't do it again!
Please no no NO NO don't come near meeeeeeee!"  It was truly pathetic.  I
stood there watching it embarrass itself as a service bagger left to fetch
a mop and bucket to clean up the warm, expanding puddle of urine coming from
under it.  I had two choices: pick it up and slam it around for a few minutes
before tossing it on the street in full view of the guests and resign myself
to washing my hands 15 or 20 times, or have Security remove it on the grounds
that its stench was spoiling all of the produce in the store and breaking the
cash registers.  

Ultimately, carson made the choice; with cries of "Oh please God noooooo stay
awaaaaayyyyy!" it frantically scraped its feet under itself, attempted to run,
slipped on its own urine, and finally regained its footing and fled the
premises.  Within days, terror had returned to the dog populations of such
exotic places as Fargo, North Dakota, and Regina, Sasketchewan.  Sad.  I have
kept close tabs on this pathetic excuse for a lifeform since that fateful,
humiliating scene at Meijer (security videotapes with eardrum-piercing audio,
only $19.95 each) in the best interests of humanity.

I see the balls have finally dropped, poodlesquirt, but I'm sure that this
false pretense of "courage" will last about as long as it takes me to drive
to your location and lay a beating so severe that Springer would ban video
footage for being "way too extreme."  My only regret is that you have decided
to stick that puny head out in the open on mother's day, because your mother
will be crying when I'm finished with you.

Worry not, sensetive souls-she will be crying tears of joy, for the guilt of
bringing carson into the world will be hers no longer.  It will be my
satisfaction in taking him *out*.

hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!

(and then some.)

(I see the intervening months have only served to further addle the 
senna's primitive brain.  it's always amusing to see such power 
fantasies from a creature without a functioning sexual organ.)

(the senna would have us believe it capable of being able to 
effectively use multisyllabic terms, but the truth is it can't even 
count past three.  the last time it tried, it ended up staring at the 
webbing on its feet for hours.  how many hours?  who cares; it can't 
count that high anyway.)

(despite its hideous appearance, the senna is truly a bioengineering 
feat.  who knew that a creature could grow to be so big without a spine 
to hold it upright?  who knew that a creature could obtain escape 
velocity merely by urinating, and on itself at that?  who knew that a 
creature could get its jollies from humping the legs of sleeping cows 
to a vibrant yellow hue?)

(every time the senna exhales, it breaks air quality laws in most 
countries, not to mention forty-nine states [the exception being New 
Jersey].  if God weren't waiting for a suitable virgin, He surely would 
have already sent His Second Begotten Son down to smite it.)

(you can't hide under your mommie's skirt anymore, senna, and you can't 
fool me by wearing your own, you lipstick & lace FREAK.  I'm going to 
shove both of your stiletto heels so far up your rectum you'll look 
like Big Bird shishkabob.  and then I'm going to pluck your feathers, 
one by mottled one, and send them in to find the stilettos.  and then 
I'm going to find a spine, and shove it in after that.  and THEN I'm 
going to beat you to a greasy pulp that will bear greater resemblence 
to lemon curd than the 6' 3", 99lb., makeup-wearing, pinky-extending, 
tiny-teacup-drinking, Barbra Streisand-listening, cow-leg-humping, 
loose-kidneyed, mutant chicken FREAK you are.)

        Uhm, you go.  No really.  Go.  Now.

Wow, that was sad.  I will give carson one thing--remarkable few typos, 
considering how often it types with one hand.  Very impressive work, and 
a pity it had to be wasted on a response so bereft of thought, reason, 
and humor.

I have intercede on carson's behalf to the rest of the grex population: 
Please do not judge him just because he is a poodle-hopping brown-nosing 
weasely piece of mutt incapable of anything remotely approaching 
thought, that could frighten a broken-down scavenging rodent with an 
anxiety problem *only* if it is directly downwind of his vile 
outhouse-air-is-pleasant-by-comparison fragrance.  Judge him because he 
is a bootlicking incompetent who would viciously backstab everyone he 
knew if only he could 1. reach above their thighs and 2. not break into 
shrill crying fits every time a complex idea, such as hygiene or fast 
food, crosses his mind.  

Carson is a pathetic "figure" (if a shameful accident that appears to be 
composed mostly of the fecal matter strewn about its exterior and 
perhaps a soft clay that mirrors the whining mental infirmity so well 
characterized by the toddler-level inane ravings that come from its 
mouth can be called a figure) (the beauty of a characterization as long 
as the previous one is that the sentence is too complex for the cretin 
being characterized to decode. Carson's perpetually tear-laden eyes 
cross on any sentence more complicated than "See Jane Run.") that should 
be be understood before it is judged.  As such, I have provided a 
snippet of dialogue taken from an earlier meeting between myself and the 
scumsucker.

SENNA:  "Nice night tonight at Top of the Park. I haven't seen 
tonight's movie, does anybody know if it is any good?"

CARSON:  "I just wet myself."

SENNA:  "Uh huh.  Looks like it has youth appeal--look at all of the 
kids surrounding the stage ready to get a seat right under the screen."

CARSON:  "Children?  Like, small ones?  I have suddenly decided that I 
should get a seat on the stage."

SENNA:  "Down boy.  You've begun to take interest in humans again?"

CARSON:  "No, children are scary, they could beat me up, like this one 
time when I was walking down the street at Northern Michigan after 
bribing the school president to let me stay in school despite being me 
being an incompetent moron, some kid from a place called "Ebart School" 
in Sault Ste Marie punched me and stole my wallet while I was curled up 
crying on the sidewalk.  Most dogs won't fight back, as long as I tie 
them down first."

SENNA:  "So this was a high school gangster or something?"

CARSON:  "No, a first-grader.  Really scary-looking, though, and I still 
have nightmares about him beating me up when I wake up from the septic 
tank fields that I have to sleep in because for some odd reason nobody 
will come within fifteen feet of me unless they're a horny old man 
that's roaring drunk.  Oh, dear, that sentence was long.  My brain is 
killing me from the effort.  I'm going to curl up and cry now until I 
feel better."

SENNA:  "Try not to make too much of a mess, please."

CARSON:  "<moan> <whimper>  Poor me.  <Wail>"

SENNA:  "Carson, I asked you not to make a mess."

CARSON:  "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAH!  NO please don't hurt me 
don'thurtmedon'thurt me pleaaaaassseeeeeeeeee I didn't mean it I'll make 
it better I'll do anything!"


As you can see, there's plenty of evidence to judge for yourself.  Don't 
just presume to judge it simply because you can smell it from three 
miles.

Looks like someone purchased a Thesaurus

Are you kidding?  Carson couldn't possibly lift a thesaurus off the ground.
I've seen it try such tasks, too, and I can't say I'm very impressed; three
weak tugs and then a prolonged sulking section in the nearest corner gets
nothing done.  

I received this in my mailbox recently.  See what you think.

Date: Wed, 15 May 2002 18:41:40 -0400
From: Carson <cariz@agora.ulaval.ca>
To: Military Insanity <senna@cyberspace.org>
Subject: Be my friend?

(Hi there, Senna. How are you doing today?  I am okay. I had a nasty crying
fit last night that kept me awke, but am feelng betr. I must say that yur
commnt about me earlier was hurtfl. sorry about the typin, i m only typin with
1 hand. Its ok that yu hurt me [i tried spllin out u, becus i kknow you don't
like it when people only use one lettr, im sorry dont hurt me]. Im not angry.
I was wondrng if yu would be willing to stop making fun of me in that foolish
item i strted where i tried to hurt you. I was jealous becuse your bigger than
me and becus i was so emb... emb... humil... stupid feeling with how you
ejected me from meyers.)

(I'd lke to make it up to yu, mke it worth your wile to stop noticing me. i
trd selling myself for $$ when i had fled to san fran... fransisko? to get
away from yu, but nobody wanted me. i beg'd at the democratic nt'l convenshon,
too, but evrybody thaut i was just going to buy booze.  So I dont have any
money to bribe you with.  Oh good, I can type with two hands now.  I messed
up my "Modern dog breeding" magazeen, tho, and Ill need to buy another 1. 
I hate when this happens.)

(Anyway, I can't bribe you, but i could do things for you, help you make $$
or something. I'll do anything if you promise not to hurt me.  Please, Senna,
I still wake up at night screaming when I think your coming to get me. Even
the Chiwawas run away from me now, I think because they know your going to
kill me.  Please don't hurt me Senna!  I promise I'll do better, I promise
to try to improve.  I'll even try to get wet and use that deoderent stuff you
told me about.)

(Please don't hurt me!  Please I'm begging you, I'll get better I promise just
don't hurt me anymore please!!!!)

Your loving servant,

Carson


I suppose I should email it back.  It *almost* makes you think twice about
the deserved fate of the creature.  Almost.

(now, kids, THAT'S what happens when you use drugs.  if you're a 
chicken, that is.)

(I suppose I should take a brief moment to summarize for those who are 
joining the hunt late.  For those uninitiated few, I offer this primer.)

   See chicken.
   See chicken cluck.
   Cluck, chicken, cluck.

   See scientists.
   See scientists with turkey baster.
   What's in the turkey baster?

   See chicken look uncomfortable.
   See chicken give birth to senna.
   See chicken faint.
   See senna wet itself.
   Silly senna.

   See senna.
   See senna see turkey baster.
   Senna asks, "are you my daddy?"

   See senna.
   See senna try to think.
   See senna twitch.
   See other eggs fall out of nest.
   See eggs break on ground.
   Uh-oh.

   See senna stare.
   See senna stare some more.
   See senna stare for hours.
   Why is senna staring?

   See senna.
   See senna push eggs.
   See eggs fall out of nest.
   See yolk all over floor.
   No more eggs!

   See senna cry.
   See senna wet itself.
   See senna crap itself.
   See senna see crap.
   See senna smear crap on barn wall.
   Smear, senna, smear.

   See cow.
   See senna see cow.
   See senna hump cow leg.
   Hump, senna, hump.

   See cow.
   See cow leg.
   The cow leg is yellow.

   See cow try to get away.
   See cow jump fence.
   See senna jump fence.
   Where did senna go?

   See senna confused.
   See senna see cow.
   See senna chase cow.
   See senna leave long trail of fecal matter behind it.

(...and that is how the senna was created and came to be unleashed upon 
an unsuspecting populace.  there's certainly more that could be 
written, as senna discovers women's clothing, make-up, and baby seals.  
but there's no point in describing its chemically-shortened existence 
any further, as it's merely the smallest of yellow stains on the book 
of life.  however, I do invite all to See carson turn senna into 99 
lbs. of yellow soup in a matter of moments.)

(tick tock.  tick tock.)

(the senna would be more intimidating if it had a battlecry that didn't 
sound so much like "MOMMMMMMY!!" as squealed by a pig in a 
slaughterhouse.  as a big, speedy, anorexic bird, the only two things 
separating the senna from the Road Runner are the color scheme and a 
brain stem.  ok, the skirt.  and the high heels, too.  can't forget the 
grime, either.)

(unfortunately, the efforts of others to eliminate the senna have 
proven unsuccessful.  there was a point where sharpshooters were ready 
to take it out, but, to their horror, they discovered the senna's lack 
of bathing caused its matted feathers to form what can best be 
described as a bulletproof exoskeleton.  the resulting ricochets 
injured three sleeping cows.)

(what frightens me is that the scientists at Michigan State University 
actually are considering *repeating* The Senna Experiment 
[a.k.a. "Project Boot-Shaped McNugget"].  obviously they haven't 
learned that sequels usually are disastrous for all involved.  of 
course, this is the same university that spent a week putting a hockey 
rink on top of a perfectly good football field.  then again, it's not 
as if their football team knew what to do with the field.  but I 
digress.)

(I am going to enjoy the deliciousness of this final encounter, delight 
in the brutality as I crush the senna like a cockroach, rejoice at the 
skill at which I reconstruct its bruised carcass, and swim with glee as 
I crush it again.  the scene of its demise will resemble a yellow 
paintball shoot-out, the only identifiable object being the Sanrio 
purse the senna lifted earlier from a terrified Japanese toddler as it 
proceeded to hump the leg of some poor guy in a cow costume.)

{Senna, next time use "Cat Fancy" magazine in place of "Modern Dog Breeding".
Other than that, quite nice.}

So I was back in the 'hood friday evening thinking about the meaning of life
as i stepped over carson's bleeding carcas. see, in chitown we can't have
'guns' and i need to remove my giant metaphoric 'sword' from the thigh of the
'mutt' (it disgusts me to even call a mangy goat-breeder this vile a
'recognized' dog breed (the clintonistas always bleed their hearts to protect
the 'little guy' and 'all animals,' but even they won't touch this cretin)).
strangely enough the 'mutt' was still 'whimpering,' begging for mercy from
my wise 'judgement' that it should not be allowed to live. i was going to put
it out of its `misery' but I heard the `man' coming and I realized that if
they saw me killing carson, they would probably put `it' on `life-support'
until carson `assaulted' somebody, and then they would throw him in jail. 
I cant let that happen, though, because of the `diseases' he would `spread'
to a `prison population' that must have at least a few `good' apples.  

So `carson' is lying there, calling for `mommy' (the last time it saw its
mother, he had her chained down so she couldnt flee in terror like she
normally does when he comes calling.  It was january of '00 and carson had
promised a `repairman' favors, and money that he didn't `have,' to knock on
his mom's door and get inside by saying he was a Y2k inspector checking to
make sure her water-drums were okay and then chain her down.  The inspector
never got his money, of course (though the inspectors dog did catch a nice
case of genital herpes) and would have killed carson himself if he didn't
faint dead away from the smell the first time carson caught him and stuck
himself in the same room. but back to my story) and twitching slightly and
smelling like something that is both dead and suffering from a massive case
of `bowel irritation'.  The problem with disposing of carson in a way that
will appease a population with more hopes for death and dismemberment than
star wars `fans' have expectations for their `movies' is that he is still a
public health hazard, and I can't just toss him in the nearest lake when I
kick his `booty.' Most of the times when I have kicked his `booty' he has used
the fumbling intervention of local `authorities' who think that they can just
chain him from a `wall' and then find that his head is so devoid of thought
that it will actually `slip' through the `noose' to escape.

But it's `on' now `carson,' and youd better start running, because we all want
your hide now.  Even Nai-Nai thinks she can `take' you, and she can, because
you're a limp-minded dog-licking lassie-watching humane-society-pimp-bait
embarassment who couldn't life his own `arms' above its `head' without gasping
from the strain of thinking of anything `higher' than `good canine head'
(interesting story about the last poodle you tried to pick up, she came home
whimpering to her owner covered with blood, and the owner took `her' to the
`vet' to find out what was wrong. The `vet' couldn't figure out what to do
with her, since all the blood wound up belonging to carson (having just been
beaten to a pulp by yours truly) but he did mention that the poodle appeared
to be more embarassed that your pathetic `display' actually managed to get
behind her `once' before she fought you off (of course i supplied the
information about your preferences and lack of success with dogs, but the
`vet' filled in the rest once i got there)).  You're Nai-Nai's bitch now,
poodlesquirt, and youd better `watch' out.

senna is bdh?

my head hurts.

(...and senna's entire body would hurt if it had an organ capable of 
registering and processing the extreme amounts of pain I intend to 
inflict upon it.  however, the beating will be so swift and merciless 
that my knuckles won't even bleed until I'm done.)

(so the big yellow chicken wants to masquerade as an orange gopher?  
I'll be happy to help you match the color scheme by bringing all of 
your blood in contact with oxygen as I pulverize your entire skeletal 
structure.  and though it's not quite the look you're seeking, the rest 
of the planet could sure 'gopher' you taking on the appearance of four-
day-old roadkill.)

(it's over, senna.  your borrowed time is past due and I'm coming to 
collect.  search for Carrottop and Alyssa Milano all you want.  
there'll be no savings for you as I 'dial' my furious fists down 
your 'center', leaving your halved, urine-stained carcass with a leg 
twitching on each side, still trying to make a fruitless escape.)

PETA CLARIFIES POSITION ON THE SENNA

Group Wants Carson To "Kill It Already"


For Immediate Release:
May 18, 2002

Contact:
Stefanie Knight  757-622-7382

Louisville, Ky. -- PETA officials are taking the unusual step of 
publicly supporting Carson in his efforts to exterminate a large, 
enuretic bird dubbed "the Senna."  Although this appears to contradict 
earlier statements made by PETA in regards to the now 17-month long 
hunt, a group spokesperson was quick to clear up the confusion.

"When we said we wanted the Senna 'taken care of,' people seemed to 
think that we wanted it spared so that we could put it on one of our 
free-range farms and let it live out its days in peace," says PETA 
spokesperson Jay Kelly.  "Nothing could have been further from the 
truth.  We believe in the ethical treatment of animals, not in 
protecting biologically engineered freaks that torment other animals 
by humping their legs and poisoning their drinking supplies."

PETA is currently running a game on their PETAKids.com website where 
children can play "Wack-A-Senna" and vote on how they would like to see 
the Senna exterminated.

"Killing off the Senna is essential to our credibility as an animal-
rights organization," says PETA Vegan Campaign Director Bruce 
Friedrich.  "No one wants to hear 'Save the chickens!' when there's a 
6-foot-6, 99-pound bird terrorizing the populace."

I see you still cannot provide evidence to support your lies, carson.  
Instead, you continue to use your red herrings (actually, you'd get 
beated to a bloody pulp by a herring if you ever met one) to avoid the 
issues.  Your anti-civilizic hatred is painfully clear.  Your own words 
betray you.  Consider response #0:

> this is the item where Carson! resumes his... cow-leg humping. 

You cannot defend or change your statements, carson. It is clear what 
you intend with such garbage.  Consider this from response #1:

> I had to... terrorize my puppies' puppies.  

You can't equivocate away your own words, carson.  Your intent is 
clear, and you cannot possibly claim otherwise.  You are an animal-
raping savage incapable of human thought, and claims to the contrary 
are laughably errant.

Here are some of today's headlines:

From the Detroit News:

12:22  Carson seen fleeing Pontiac sewer trailing blood, collapses into 
a drainage ditch and bawls uncontrollably.

13:48  Redford Humane Society reports breakin when high-pitched yowls 
are emitted from a pathetic, feces-covered creature that is attempting 
to escape a sheepdog cage it has forcibly entered. Creature briefly 
held before fleeing the scene crying "mommy!  mommy!"

From the Detroit Free Press:

15:54  Carson is reported to have appeared at the St. Joseph Hospital 
Emergency department, but is turned down on the grounds that he should 
seek the assistance of a veterinarian.

16:18  Carson requests treatment for an "owie" on his arm at the Huron 
Valley Humane society

16:24  Carson beaten to a bloody pulp when HVHS recognizes it and calls 
Steve for assistance


You deny, deny, deny, but the truth is that Civilization-haters like 
you can only avoid the issues.  I talk about the issues, and all you 
can do is provide excuses.  You never have answered my questions and 
the facts I presented in Agora36: item 31, resp 12, and you cannot 
provide answers for your disgraceful views and disgusting behavior now, 
either.  Where are your answers, carson?

The silence is deafening.

As anyone is capable of seeing for themselves, carson is completely off 
the deep end.  Indeed, I would like to believe that this is a recent 
development, but of course it isn't.  This is in fact part V of the six-
part "Carson" series, creatively entitled "Dog Wars."  I suppose I 
should provide a quick summary so that viewers will gain an appropriate 
understanding of Carson's vile idiocy.

Dog Wars IV:  A New Victim:  Carson attempts to make love to an 
attractive poodle named Lay-a and is strongly rebuffed.  Carson’s new 
plan is to create the ultimate weapon, a weapon so powerful that it 
will strike fear into all who come near him—which is to say that 
Carson eats a ten-pack of Taco Bell bean burritos.  Carson is 
embarrassed and humiliated and gets its ass kicked by Senna.

Dog Wars V:  Carson Strikes Out:  (current episode) Carson hides out in 
the snow-bound world of Marquette, Michigan, in a vain attempt to flee 
the justice of Senna.  Carson’s attempts to woo Lay-a continue to fail 
miserably, and she pees on his leg.  Carson searches for a wise teacher 
in the sewage-laden swamps that are the only place left that he can 
sleep without being kicked, but instead it simply continues to use 
really awful grammar.  Carson is embarrassed and humiliated and gets 
its ass handed to it by Senna.

Dog Wars VI:  Return of the Cretin:  (stay tuned) Carson discovers that 
Lay-a is actually its half-sister (both fathered by a degenerate 
Doberman named Butch), and tries to make love to her anyway.  Carson 
attempts to rebuild its ultimate weapon with a trip to Taco Bell, but 
is embarrassed and humiliated and gets its ass destroyed by Senna first.


Exciting, isn't it?  Keep your eyes peeled.  Don't forget, though, that 
there are also prequels.

Dog Wars I: A Phantom Disgrace:  Carson is hatched. As a puppy, Carson 
believes itself to be in slavery, but in fact is just whining about 
having to take out the garbage.  Carson later escapes when it learns 
about a worldwide peacekeeping order called "Grex."  Carson apprentices 
itself in hopes of joining the laptop-wielding order of Grexians known 
as "board-members."  Carson meets an older canine who tells him "Ah'm a 
Dog, uh," which Carson's vile ears interpret as "Amidogla."  

Dog Wars II:  Attack of the Wabbits:  Carson is older now, already well-
versed in the ways of animal-assault and idiocy, when it meets Amidogla 
again. Amidogla is disgusted with Carson and rejects it.  Meanwhile, 
chaos reigns in the great galactic "cyberspace," as a rival order known 
as "M-net" that has long followed the dark side of the bbs begins to 
infiltrate the Grexian order.  Only an army of occasionally annoying 
but otherwise harmless users from India, led by the wise old patriarch 
of the Grexian order known as "Yoda-Watts," frightens off the dark side 
patrons of "M-net." Carson finally makes it with Amidogla in the end.

Dog Wars III:  Reign of Error:  Carson, filled with anger at constant 
rejection and its own complete inability to function in society, 
betrays Grex and turns to the dark side of the bbs and an empire 
called "Chinet."  Senna heroically appears for the first time to teach 
Carson a lesson.  Carson is humiliated and embarrassed and gets its 
first whooping from Senna.  Meanwhile, the two creatures that were 
Carson's offspring that Carson never knew about are sequestered, 
retrained, and adopted by a loving family of Gerbils.  The secret is 
safe.


Just to catch all of you up.  We're just getting through 
the "embarrassed" part of Ep V, and the "Humiliated" part is coming 
shortly.

(yammer on, senna.  it is clear that you can't hear anything over your 
mantra of propaganda, and that you could care less if your "sources" 
are 100% at odds with what the rest of us know to be true.)

(perhaps if Senna had bothered to read any of its sources instead of 
merely cutting-and-pasting, it would have noticed that the Humane 
Society already has given financial support to several pro-Carson lobby 
groups.  it also would have noticed that the Barak peace plan calls for 
protecting drinking water supplies by providing arms to Carson, clearly 
indicating support for his efforts.)

(while Senna persists in dilatory responses that bear no relevance to 
the discussion at hand, I will merely point out that I answered its 
questions well before it thought to ask them, in resp:Agora36,1,39 as a 
matter of fact.  however, I do not expect senna to retreat from its 
morally indefensible position.)

(you are truly a pathetic, lying hypocrite.)

(poor, poor senna.)

(obviously, if the senna were a true connoisseur of all things "Dog 
Wars"-related, it would remember the "Dog Wars Holiday Special.")

Dog Wars Holiday Special:  The story revolves around Senna's family as 
the Senna tries to find its way back to its home barn in time for "Egg 
Day."  During the two-hour episode, the audience is introduced to its 
mother Henna, its brother Yolka, its sister Yella, and its dad, which 
is apparently a half-emptied turkey baster.  The show features the 
Senna warbling the infamous classic  "I'll Be Home For Egg Day [After 
I Finish Humping This Cow Leg]."  It also features guest appearances by 
Jon Pratt, John Grey, Jared Mauch, Scott Helmke, and Eric Abrams.  None 
of them wanted to be associated with the project, but they were 
apparently tricked into participating.  It turns out that they also 
provided the only star power on the show, as the Carson was too busy 
sharpening its blades in preparation for its starring role in the Oscar-
winning flick "Carson Beats The Holy Hell Out Of Some Giant Yellow 
Coward That Desperately Needs It."

(the best thing about the Holiday Special is that it NEVER RAN AGAIN, 
much like the senna after I've finished tearing off both of its legs 
and feeding them to it.  the senna can continue to live in fantasy land 
where all the dogs have hanging guts and wear sweats with elastic that 
gave up the ghost ten years and sixty pounds ago, but reality is a son 
of bitch, and it's preparing to lay the smack down on the senna's crap-
caked ass.)

(so, you leg-loving, egg-smashing, sulfur-staining, excrement-smearing, 
urinal-cake-eating, matted-feathered, water-polluting, lipstick-
wearing, high-heeled, pirouetting, physics-defying, Hello-Kitty-
admiring, pillow-biting, polytheistic-praying, estrogen-secreting, 
double-Y-chromosome-having, yellow bastard FREAK.  you're obviously 
not going to go quietly, because the beating I'm going to give you will 
register on the Richter scale.  you might as well start calling me 
Alcatraz, because you're not going to escape.  this is death row, and 
I've already pulled the switch.)

There it goes again.

"double-Y-chromosome-having?"  You really need to turn the computer off 
when you're at home alone on a Saturday night getting piss-drunk to 
forget the restless nights you've spent in sewage pools hoping that 
your odor won't smell too much worse than city refuse and lead me onto 
you.  You needn't have worried--I know where your pathetic excuse for a 
hide is at all times--but I guess there's no helping the feeble-minded.

Your "answers" in said responses were easily refuted by the facts more 
than a year ago (the most relevant fact being that I have before and I 
will again kick your ass any time, any place), but you go on ignoring 
any and all facts when it suits you to do so.  Your intellectual 
vacancy is transparent to all.  You have an interesting view 
of "donations by the humane society," too; I've never heard that phrase 
used for a desperately revolted janitor saying "Please, take anything, 
just take your smell away!" before.

What more to say?  Your infection of planet earth fast draws through 
the twilight of its reign of error.  The disease that is carson shall 
soon be swept from this planet, as easily as a hot chainsaw through 
butter, with more mess.  Most humans dream about the future and the 
promise it holds.  Carson, lacking the fundamental characteristic held 
by the subject of the previous sentence, may attempt to dream of the 
future, but only nightmares will come out.  After all, Carson's future 
is me--and I'm going to wipe it off the face of this earth.

I am your future, Carson.  The bloody destruction you will suffer at my 
hands is the destiny you have feared and known.  Prepare for 
eradication.

resp:19 indeed, jaklumen stumbled onto the set of "The Holiday 
Special," when some scruffy mutt named carson wandered by and insisted 
he needed some parts.  lumen asked for compensation, which was met 
with a lot of limp wrist-waving with some half-assed rhyme consisting 
of 'Yooper credits will do fine, foo'/May my Force be in you'.  "You 
think you're an M-Netter, waving your hand around like that?  I'm a 
whiskery janitor-type guy," lumen said.  "Bad jokes don't work on me, 
only money."  Unfortunately, he lost a bet with carson involving doggy-
style pod racing-- *you* figure out the innuendo on that one.

So, lumen decided to participate, being bored as hell anyway, and he 
wound up appearing in a smelly TRU Geoffrey costume, trying to impress 
extras with his knowledge of music.  senna appeared soon enough, all 
bony, waify, and pointy-eared, confused because lumen no longer had 
his head shaved and had more hair on his face.  "Get away from me, I'm 
not a fookin' cow!" and "That's just wrong," complete with senna 
squatting and shaking to pee on the floor (and everyone's feet), were 
some of the sad outtakes thankfully not included in the Special.

The CDC and the Humane Society appeared on set shortly after shooting 
was completed, upon which carson and senna began whizzing again at 
random, insisting it was a pissing contest.  They failed to notice 
that they lost control of their bladders, and the two organizations 
whisked them away.  It is rumored that they are trying for appearances 
in fan conventions and infomercials.

(what in the bloody BLUE HELL was that?)


resp:20  (I have already seen the future, eggsucker.  This is the 
future):


King Carson II sat on his throne, contemplating the events at 
breakfast.  Ever since his father, the legendary Carson, had vanquished 
the Yellowed One, there had been peace in the land.  The success had 
cemented Carson's status as an unprecedented icon.  Other, more 
difficult hunts began to take on long-deserved mythical proportions as 
people sought to cash in on Carson's popularity.  A baby boom nearly 
became the next international crisis as women insisted on naming their 
newborns after Carson (the junior Carson knew, perhaps only 
subconsciously, that there might be other reasons than post-traumatic 
bliss for the higher birth rate, as his father had been known to be a 
bit randy).  Licensing deals put Carson's pictures on lunch boxes, 
video games, sports cars, hockey teams...  Carson's picture was 
everywhere.  A cable channel was devoted to highlights and 
dramatizations of his previous hunts.  It was no surprise that he was 
elected president shortly after his retirement.  What *was* surprising 
was that nearly every other country wanted to claim him as their ruler 
as well.  The Hindu nations were especially thankful, as they had 
considered the Yellowed One an unholy terror.  Just three years after 
the Yellowed One's demise, the world was Carson's.

Yet there were those who still opposed Carson.  In a benevolent 
gesture, he had spared the lives of the Michigan State University 
scientists responsible for the Yellowed One's creation, instead exiling 
them to New Jersey.  Rumours that they had begun to continue the work 
that had led to the Yellowed One could never be substantiated, and when 
Carson eventually died from priapism, there was general agreement that 
his son should take over the new family business.  But the junior 
Carson didn't want to run the brothel, so he let one of his brothers 
handle that business, while he took over the royal duties.

Carson II was not as popular as his dad had been, and the stresses were 
starting to show.  Fewer women were joining the harem.  Children had 
gone back to idolizing the anime du jour.  People started watching 
hockey games and enjoying them.  Even his own staff could occasionally 
be heard muttering.  Carson II usually chose to ignore it, but this 
morning...

The morning routine had been unchanged for years:  romp with the 
concubines, play a round of ADOM, and then sit down to a breakfast of 
raw meat and whiskey.  However, this morning was different.  Perhaps 
the chef was playing a practical joke, a very unfunny one.  When Carson 
II sat down to breakfast, he was not presented with the usual repast.  
Instead, he was served with an uncooked ostrich egg, a chicken breast 
smothered in saffron sauce, and a glass of lemonade, slightly spilled.

The chef's execution was swift, yet it was nowhere near the speed with 
which his father had slaughtered the Yellowed One those many years 
ago.  The king was not in the physical shape his father had been in; 
royal excesses had migrated to his waist.  If a new Yellowed One were 
to emerge as a threat to his kingdom, would he be able to deal with 
it?  The thought furrowed his brow.  Perhaps the time had finally come 
to wipe out New Jersey.  

---

(...not that anyone cares.  the point is that *I'm* successful, and 
*you* don't have a future.  in fact, the beating that I plan to deal 
to you will be so swift and brutal that it will warp the space-time 
continuum and leave you a yellow splotch four years before you were 
fertilized.  when I said you were living on borrowed time, I meant it, 
you feathered FREAK, and your credit has hit junk bond status.)

<I'm a Toys R Us Kid! screams jaklumen, chortling maniacally in his 
Geoffrey costume>

Hey . . . has anyone bought rights to toy distribution?

huh?  not that I can really think of.. many stores will have 
particular packages or versions of toys that are made as exclusives to 
their store, but that's all I know of.

This response has been erased.

So I have my own Carson and The Senna dolls crafted and sold in toy 
stores everywhere?

Hey, that might be a good item for the Grex Store.  

no doubt =)

Hmmm . . . . all I have to do is get them to sign off on allowing me to 
legally use their likenesses, and get someone to make tiny Grex gear.

(Safety first!)

How to avoid a senna

1.  Do not work at Victoria's Secret or any similar retail outlet.
2.  Refrain from wearing cow costumes.
3.  Avoid listening to Barbra Streisand or Judy Garland albums at audible
levels.
4.  Take cover if you smell anything that reminds you of a locker room at
a slaughterhouse.
5.  Stay away from cows, especially young ones.
6.  Say in a loud, clear voice:  "Isn't that Carson over there?"

What to do if you find a senna

1.  Do not attempt to corner the senna.
2.  Avoid making eye contact with the senna.
3.  Stay low to the ground, where the air is cleaner.
4.  Discard any feminine articles of clothing. The senna may attempt to 
try them on.
5.  Do not make "moo" sounds to distract the senna.
6.  Do not, repeat, DO NOT attempt to choke the chicken.

Moo?

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