With Chef-Boy-
Am-I-Hungry
Skarfing
Material
Who are these mad manehat are
doing, why are they on this page?
never know and neither will we.
Hey you guys at THRASHER, Editor
types and such, sorry I disappeared so
suddenly back in Virginia Beach, but I had
no choice. Guess I got carried away with
the scenery, all those.... woll you know
what I mean. I had to hide out for awhile in
a forested area by the Norfolk airport. I
can't, for the life of me figure out why the
local P.D. had it out for me. There I was,
just standing there talking to these beautiful
little southern gem-betties who looked
maybe sixteen or nineteen years old, then
just as one of them says to me:
Gee mistuh, ya sure drool a lot. Why do
y'all drool so much?". I hear a voice
screaming behind me.
"There he is officuh. Thar's thuh man.
He's slobbering all over my baby! Git 'im
He's a molestub
So I spun around and said, "What do your
mean you old cow? I got a cold and no
hanky. Besides, I never touched the
nubiles! Before I could react any further, I
noticed eight more honchos closing in on
all sides. Retaliation was useless.
"Come with us peacefully or I'll hit you
with this stick," one cop said, holding up a
standard issue baton. But when your flesh
has been torn with hot sizzling shrapnel a
few times, getting hit with a police baton
doesn't seem to bother you so much. Al-
most like a spanking. I struggled with a bit
of effeminism, so they thought I was a
wimp. They ushered me to a waiting squad
car but as I leaned to get in, the son of a
bitch with the baton wailed it across my
back. I lurched and hit my head on the edge
18
of the car. That pissed me off, I was seeing
stars and thought, for a moment, that I was
back in Nam. Like the time I was tending
some wounded at Little Julie, a hot LZ and
a bunch of Cong burst through the perime-
ter spittin' lead and a round fully twanged
my helmet, putting my brain on a ferris
wheel. I'd miraculously defended myself
through this haze-daze, disarming and dis-
locating a few V.C. which we ended up tak-
ing prisoner. Well, I retaliated in the same
manner against these cops as a natural re-
flex, sending them all flying in different di-
rections.
By the time I got myself back together,
eyes focusing n' shit, my arms were wrap-
pod around an officer's neck in the sleeper
hold No.7XV-19. I gently laid him down,
realizing my boo-boo, used his key to un-
lock my cuffs, ran across the parking lot,
grabbed Gator's deck and hauled ass
down the road. After hiding out a few days
I went into the airport, switched identities
with this foreign businessman who looked
just like me, a Spaniard. I took his ticket,
passport, everything and now I'm over here
in Spain, hangin' out.
So that's why I didn't get the last Skarfing
Material in on time. I hope you forgive me.
Real sorry about it, but it couldn't be
helped. I try not to let it ever happen
again.
This month I don't have that much time
for anything exotic, so I'll flow you this
quick 'n easy muncho-skarfo-non-exotico
recipe for something I call...
CRAP SANDWICHES
All you need is a package of graham
crackers (experiment with other types of
crackers if you dare), a package of minia-
ture marshmallows, two handfuls of un-
salted sunflower kernels, a package of
semi-sweet real chocolate chips and a jar
of peanut butter.
Ok, now what you do is you take one
cracker and spread about a teaspoon of
peanut butter over it. Then sprinkle some
sunflower seeds and a bunch of chocolate
chips over that. Cover these with six or
eight mini-marshmallows.
Make a shitload of these and then place
them in a pre-heated oven at about 275 de-
grees until just before the marshmallows
get out of control, brown and tasty. Pull the
stuff out and put another graham cracker
on top and press it down firmly. Viola!
CRAP SANDWICHI
Well, I gotta go now, I think I'm being
watched. Until next month garbage guts, "it
you can't cook it, don't touch it!".
WASTELAND YOUTHS
SHOP WATERSHED!
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