Video: MICE INFESTATION RECORD

Instinctual breast feeding takes place under the driveway. Take your bangs and beat your neighbors with the round parts. If curling irons become obsolete, the world will become void of sexual pleasure. Blooms flew from the TV screen and images of the moon layered over orange peels took me by surprise, by the eyes, peeled away my scalp and built an efficient external combustion engine. Don’t say that. Say that. That. I told. It only takes a moment, just bite off a finger and give it to your favorite teacher. A’s all around. Use Lysol brand disinfectant when you’re finished. I am playing Jimmy Buffet songs with a cover band tonight. We are drunk and rockin and loud. The old folks in the audience are flashing naked body parts: things like tits and toenails and someone just dropped their dentures in the sand. We built a fake beach after we set up the equipment and before the people showed up twelve hours late. We took shits in the sand and buried the turds like cats. Kicked sand all over the place. The turds got quickly mixed in and the bass player got feces in his mouth and in one nostril. He did not speak or sniff for the rest of the time. He still is not. After he kills someone in the audience, he will feel better and smile again. We’ll sing Van Morrison and feel nostalgic for the old-folk audience, panging and longing and mental jerking for a time we do not remember because we were born thirty years too late. We are not part of something big. We cannot say, It was the Sixties, man, and have all of our stupidity justified. We do not know how to feel about that, exactly. We feel that we should not speak for everyone, of course. So we switch over to first person. Neil Armstrong. Jesus Christ. Jackie Robinson. And I get excited about the idea that there was maybe a time when things could happen for the first time. This makes me want to say vomit, but what I mean is that name dropping is the way to make it in this world. I am also taking a class on how to be an opinionated asshole who makes lightning quick decisions and argues for them despite their not having been thought out or considered beyond the end of my dick. A man named Dick Palace took off his pants and took a piss and spelled the word PANCE in the snow. He could smell his piss. The steam made him think of his mother’s cooking. Then he thought about the day he hid inside the cabinets until his parents called the police. They thought he had run away, and that maybe someone had abducted and raped him and killed him and buried him alive in a shallow grave just inside the edge of the woods. He remembered how this scared him and he crawled out of the cabinet, crying and feeling scared that those things could actually happen to him. His parents were happy and angry. They yelled at him and hugged him. His mother reheated his dinner. She set the steaming plate of food in front of him and got him a glass of spoiled breast milk to drink. She said to him: Instinctual breast feeding takes place under the driveway. This made Dick Palace cry then, and again now as he stood in the cold with his dick getting frostbitten.

[GUEST TEXT: Josh Maday]