BEDBUGS
Step down from that brick bitch, it's loose with the feather-touch bedbugs. Cutie pie slug bug making whipped cream for all us at home, making dream pie surprise for the ladies in the house. Hey, hey come on take a load off, blood bud. I swear to gawd we don't bite, much love bug fucks you up and chews you up and spits you out and sucks you off and has your babies. But hey, don't worry none bout the mess I'll clean it up tomorrow, it's my day off anyway.
It's imperative that you not be upside down when I tell you all about the cannonball party. I'm telling you that brick you're on is gonna fall into place like Tetris in space, or Mars, and believe me, you don't want to be in the way of celestial events or candy bars. Look at all the stars, fuckers, we going faster than the speed of life. No way, Jose. Jose, please put the gun down. No need for that sort of blast-blast radio play today, not today anyway. I just rented Kindergarten Cop on Laserdisk.
Rattle my ribcage because I deserve it. Kick me in the kneecap – I've got three prosthetic legs up in this bitch. Smooth me out like vegan peanut butter. Wait, isn't peanut butter always vegan? Shut up, put some special butter on those loose lips smacking rattlesnake venom. What about the ground-up ground bugs in the mix? Oh shit, I'm getting a buzz off Captain America. I've got a western union telegram from the future. The wire says Omar coming. He sent a list of provisions for the fall:
the lemonheads' first album
faces of death pt. III on vhs
twenty-seven moleskin journals
a pallet of perrier
a gilded jap-cat
a plethora of parmesan cheese
beer nuts
a glamour shot of yr mom
two sticks of cinnamon-flavored gum (brand is unimportant)
a belt-worn marshall amp
twenty-three filtered lucky strike cigarettes
seven rolls of high-brow toilet paper
a crack pipe
a boom box
crack cocaine
a few dozen battery packs
forty or fifty ball-point pens
a pile of cardboard boxes (for building forts)
the gift of fire
an electric ukalale
an ipod
a flat-screen television
a macbook
an electric generator
a satellite cell phone
flares
a bicycle
a boat
a helicopter
a time machine
peace of mind
self-awareness
self-actualization
peter sellers
fox urine
candy bars
toxic bugspray
shotgun shells
a monster truck
a bowie knife
david bowie
three cans of beans
low-brow toilet paper
rifle ammunition
a mini-keg of lowenbrau
a naughty poster of lydia davis
some copies of reader's digest
many manly guns
deer sausage
pork sausage
chicken sausage
cow sausage
egg sausage
sausage sausage
magnum condoms
a tiffany lotus lamp
couple of aloe plants
yr grandmother's story quilt
yr grandmother's breakfast
yr grandmother's grandma
a spit bucket
a shoe shine cart
a deer feeder
a deer blind
a duck blind
a flying saucer
a portuguese man-of-war
a bottle-nose dolphin
a sonar communication device
hope for intelligent life on earth
is there life on mars?
bello regazzo bella regazza
noli me tangere
After shooting everyone in the house, Omar starts a website called, MyFeetSmellLikeToenails.com. It gets like a million hits a day from all over the world. The only thing on the website is a video of Omar clipping his toenails into points, flashing his teef. He gets stupid rich and stupid fat and stupid stupid, because that's the sort of thing that happens to people who get what exactly they want: they fade away like Wilt the Stilt.
(Reynard Seifert is the author of the chapbook How To Skin The Moon and the ebook zzzombiezzz. He is a DJ on Viva Radio, publishes hahaclever dot com, edits Titular, and contributes to HTMLGIANT.)