Nico Nuthouse Here:

Hello corpse. I'm Nico Nuthouse. I'm sure feeling keen that the publisher of "Introvisionary Copying" put my Writing Creation in his copy. I didn't really think he wouldn't, for what I write is most important to his wise-guy readers. The only thing making sense in his copy is what I write and he prints. All the rest of his printing gives you a belly-ache right in the middle of your head! It's mighty difficult to digest for normal-headedness, and that's why the stomach fools you and puts the pain in your knocker, ready to be spit out if you want to and know how. And if you don't, well, it will sit there and makes you look normal.

Yesterday, I walked my beat and I talk to a chappy who had one of these "Introvisionary Copies" in his hand and he was reading my Writing Creations. Then he cried out loud!  I felt sorry for the normalness in his knocker, and I was right about to tell him that he should not be ashamed of crying, when he looked up and said: Casket Chuckles is the only thing worth while to read. All the rest of this stuff is all Worldly Garbage!  Yeah he said, another thing, this Hank-boy is possessed by a Super-Intelligent-Luciferian and no doubt should be ticketed by the Cosmic UFO Force. The stuff he scribbles is exactly what he should not scribble. Who does he think we are? Sometimes we like to read stuff for the sake of reading or being baby-sat. Who wants to work at leisure time. A man should be able to take his coffee-break and have a laugh or two. Maybe three! And all this Hank-boy does, is give you a sick-complex because you're normal. Sure, this guy is dangerous, cosmically. To a great extent! Anyway, that's what this chappy told me.

And he is right, mostly. But since I like Hankie-boy I told him that he should not criticize other people. And to make-up for it, for him, I told him that I was this Hank-boy! And then his tune varied quite a bit, and he said; really, or are you pulling my poke? Are you really this Hank-boy? And then he grinned a bit stupid! But I liked him anyway. And for a moment I thought that he also was born yesterday. And if he was, it certainly could not have been at high noon. For I would have known him. I know all high nooners! For they are like me, dead on! When I left this chappy, he said, tell this publisher that Nico is alright. I like this 'nit' quite a bit! And then I shook his hand. It felt like a fence post, but horizontally.

Anyway, after I had scribbled the first Casket Chuckle, this lady-bug came to see me. She was from the "Introvisionary Coyping Blokes" and she talked to me a lot and asked questions. We laughed like monkeys and we were happy as little angels in my old church book. We talked for hours, and finally she didn't want to go home. And then I put her on the stretcher to sleep. She stretched her curves all night, but never bothered me a bit. For I am overstretched anyway! We were like happy kids. The next day, she said I'm going to chuck the job I've got and become like you. For I feel that I can be myself, like I should be. Although all the boys like me, and sometimes tickle me, where it feels good, I'm going to be like you and be free. I said, that suits me fine, but you have to get your curves out of here, for although I am overstretched, it does not mean that I can't be penetrated and become overloaded to maximum tilt. She said, I am most impressed by the effects of 'fookers' and she left me crying when she went. I told her that my inner-awkwardness was most obliged. Anyway, she left and hugged me like a cast, for about ten minutes. Since then, I haven't seen her. She must be busy being herself by now.

Never in my life have I seen a Devil change so beautifully into an Inner Heartness in such a short time. Well, I'll tell you what a Devil is. Kind of late maybe, but better now than never ever. A Devil is having a depression in the head. Anyway, hers changed into an Inner Heartness right quick like. I don't know what I've got. But maybe this Hankie-boy knows what it is. For sure I'll ask him when I see this nimbus. For now, I just feel good a lot, and that is what counts. For the rest, it does not matter a fimble!

I hope that all the wise-guys and readers understand what it means to be a writer who does not write too well, and if they don't, well, I cannot help them! All I can do is keep my inner-nerve in check and take them into my heart, a bit more often, as their mother did at one time. For I love them, multi! So again dear publisher, please read my Writing Creation, and if you have half as much inner-nerve of goodness in yourself as I have, you will print this in your "Introvisionary Copying" continentally as well as in America.