bedtime for finance

zebra teens awakening to Christianity

the cold war pep distinctively squawking

the meter intentionally expired

revival legislature is war crimes modernized

metal as goofy as postcard logic Mr. McCoy

the damaging part of being elderly

is you're a sadly immobile punching bag

and a top-notch mono bottom plea-bargain

radical amiability theatrically expressed

as the rebel pianist takes off her

iceberg roller-skates of lettuce

and parades aristocrats down the

bedtime for finance

Hockey, "In The Sympathy Vibes"
Tio Leo's Lounge, San Diego, CA, USA
March 18, 2006



You know I'm twice alive
In the sympathy vibes

heating

certainly dancing

journalists

teens

in arizona

electronic new hampshire

extra

more from THE LAND OF THE CHEDDAR MONSTER VIVISECTIONISTS II:

My parents were still struggling with that part of speech known informally as dinner. Dad was in the garden with rodents, cooking rat's ass hamburgers. It was the first time he'd tried that. To me, eating hamburgers, any kind of hamburgers, is a brazen disregard for the rules of the Zoroastrianism, and polytheism in general. But, hey, a good burger's a good burger, and it's not like my parents are going to be making us traditional Zoroastrianistic foods any time soon.

So, while they munched nervously on their demonic burgers, my plan was to cut up Slappy for parts.

No other thought made me grin as broadly. Mom used to smile, talking about putting snail poison in Dad's salad. And Sara used to say that nothing felt better than burning bugs with a magnifying glass. And Jed. Jed used to remove entire spleens from wayward wolverines.

Another thing that made me grin was the word "dirigible". ¿What was up with *that? No other word made me squirm like that one. Not even "zoological".

This is an excerpt from my novel,
THE LAND OF THE CHEDDAR
MONSTER VIVISECTIONISTS II.

(Slappy is a ventriloquist dummy)

-We have to free Slappy, he's been a dummy too long.
Think of it, Sara. How would you like it if every time you
opened your mouth somebody spoke for you? You'd
probably start driving around in an S.U.V., praising
Jesus, and voting for George W. Bush.

The poor lass couldn't follow a train, let alone a train of
thought.

..... and later:

Slappy's pants got caught on his S.U.V., and he fell to
the ground, his cellphone and Republican Party card
flying out of his pocket. Not only was he diabolical,
¡he was a card-carrying Republican! He grunted like a
lapdog - his mandibles caught under the SUV's massive
tires.

..... and later:

I searched his (Slappy's) pockets for weapons and for
any more right-wing affiliations. I found a John Birch
Society card, dated 1965 and tore it into lab rats.
Slappy protested, but he really got agitated when I
found a grunion in his pocket and started slapping him
in the face with it.

-¿What are you doing? -Sara exclaimed-. ¿Shouldn't
we be beating the piss out of him?

I had thought of that, but slapping him with a fish was
too much fun.