Schaudenfreud

The tiny ninja who lives in my mind is alright I guess. That is to say, he doesn't mean me any specific harm at all, and he's willing to share his toiletries, his bar of soap, and his fermented wine. Man do I love that wine. Shower wine we call it. He makes it in his shower and bottles it in a bidet.

Bottoms up, we'd say, and laugh knowingly. We have high style parties in the time/space barrier. It's pretty cool I guess. Not to say I've gotten over the fact that we can party down in that inconceivable border between the monster with two backs and the laundromat worker who can't seem to button that top button. It's a bit maddening. The wine makes me sleepy. Sleep makes me grumpy, and mornig makes my mouth taste like salt. I don't like salt.

And I don't remember what my mouth usually tastes like. Death. Like death? I'd put it up on an instant web-poll, but the crack team is busy sleeping, licking the inside of my mouth and marking important data on a calendar marked "For Destruction Only." The government will never look there.

They didn't find baby Jessica in the bottom of a well. No work, no play, no way. We put the kaibosh on that whole salad eating fiasco. It's fucking bullshit, and there's nothing we can do.

Jessica passed along another insignificant, miniature skull that contained my entire existence. I threw it in with the laundry, the darks, the whites, I don't segregate. I eat corned beef, I eat the whole enchilada. And by the time the tiny termites burrow inside my soul, they'll find no nougat coating, no tasty broad swing, no golf practice.

But I did notice that jackass standing on my garbage cans. He dragged them up to the roof of the Sears Tower, and said "Come find me." But it was rubbish. Pure, utter rubbish. And there's no stopping a man in the path of total destruction.

I'd change seats on the Titanic. I'd feel privileged to ride the Hindenburg. I'd love a moustache ride from Hitler. And Piacatto! Picasso was well known for his party tricks. He loved to make crank calls to glue factories and ask if the horses were running. Or how many horsepower their refridgerator had when it was running way. Yeah. Real funny.

A PLAY IN 3 WORDS

Persephone: Pass the salt?
Amadeus: [Complete and total silence, blows up the world]