Herein resides utterly unclassifiable stuff, stuff without genre, precedent, or clues as to the nature of its own arising. Other stuff is uttered here. Feel utterly free to utter otherwise - but clean up when you're done.
New Billings - the 59th State!
State fossil: Helen of Troy
State weed: weed
State flower: weed
State hoe: Flaura Bush
State cheese: Cududuh State Cheese
Sate reptile: the ruby-throated long-haired snake
State stone: weed
State superhero: Weed Man
State song: Bessemay Asso
State bird: the tufted big-beaked mandrake
State slogan: “Billings has got Top Billings!”
“Don’t kiss my ass til you brush your teeth!”
State crested marmaduke: the crested marmaduke
State mixed drink: cold beer
State Mathematical symbol: 9
State illness: herpes magnum opus
State color: greenish black tinged with ochre streaks
State oeuvre: New Billlings Phonebook (unabridged)
State mollusk: The Giant Greasy Smelly Slug
State neckwear: noose
State prospector: Walter “sweet jeezus” McKenzie
State goat: Jimbo the Bicuspid Ruminant
State soup: New Billings Bullion
State small mammal: microscopic horny crab
State song: Georgia on my Mind
State corpuscle: renal corpuscle
State nightmare: trying to evade sabre-toothed giant flea but can’t
State hairdo: the wet pompadour
State road: Bleeker Parkway Tollway
State rock: number 57 gravel
State hat: French beanie
State flying mammal: flying rat bastard mongrel weasel
State concept: Extreme monotheism
State Frothy Beverage: Chicken Soup
Serenely Pale Gold Towns As Seen from the Exploding Zeppelin
Polka Lines, Polka Dots, Polka Dimes
We Need to Think Outside the Diagonal Bag
The Toilet Overflowed, but “They” Said
Meet Jesus at the Corner of Pico and de Gallo and del Rio Verde Arriba Con Fahko
There’s Not a Rope in my Knot
Our Memories of Rainy Days Are Clouded by the Snow Storm of Our Relentless Existential Agony
The Bottle of Tawny Port Tom Kelley Purchased Thirty Years and Nine Time Zones Ago
Lubricant for My Hard Drive is Hard to Come By
What I Got Done at Work Today,
Moose, the Amazing Moose!
Drunk As a Legless Seawhorse
I Forgot All the Amazing Stuff I Learned About Myself Six Minutes Ago
No Refunds My Ass
How Heavy the Heavy Ski Lift,
I’d Go On a Tri-State Killing Spree If I Knew the Roads
Let’s Pick the One I Like Best
A Urination for God, for Life, for the Ages,
Finally Something to Make Me Shut Up
Watching the Crack
I Think You Should Rethink That Thoughtfully
The Fuzz Below, The Hair Above
A Battery of Basic Acid Tests
Your teddy is blue, my shorts are too tight, let’s be free
A brief history of the supressed eruption
The Nonicles of Crarnia
The unforeseen reach around
My Latency is Dormant at the Base of My Spine
If I May Speak for Rex, Tyrannosaurus Rex!
My Wienie So Throbs in the Morning Light
Trip to Florida Chart--3D View----
Chucking Apple Tree in Otis
May We Recommend the Following Excuses Next Time You Get in a Jam:
1. I didn't strip a gear. I just didn't remember.
2. My good foot hurt bad.
3. They gave me the wrong prescription. I swear.
4. I went on the right cruise but got on the wrong boat.
5. It was coincident with the full flowering of my pyromania.
6. My neighbor was trying to get laid. You know how it is.
7. I went to the other Milwaukee. Goddammit.
8. I thought it was seventy percent non-alcoholic!
9. Bill Gates was trying to help.
of a line of poetry:
I can't remember the last time I blow dried my hair
I can too remember when I blew my hair dry
When did I last dry my hair with a blower?
I blew my hair with air until - dry as The Britannica - yesterday tomorrow blow
Blow hair pure blue heat wind dust electric noise, Time
Camera up on a crowned figure, kaleidoscopically clad. You can tell he's conscious, since he's paying no attention. He's regal. He's the King. The King of Things. He's the ThingKing, ThinKing, thinking...
Dolly in and pan up to his well-bred face, the expansive brow upon which sits a crown of jewelled spires, blinking, blinking like an urban skyline and as the handheld zooms in and further up the face of this tiara lit like neon we begin to hear the electric hum of traffic and transactions. The perimeter buildings begin to resolve and the corporate ideograms strobe across their reflective surfaces as the camera takes a quick, seamless lap around the brim of complex city. Symbolic images of progress, power and control flit by as you pass thru the media sector, and after a brief pause when the lens focuses quizzically on the really wild hair rising up from a mole on the tip of the royal ear, you go up, up and over the top of the towers, over the razorwired mesh of comsat tendrils, and there you are, inside the circle, hovering above the broad pate of civilization itself.
It's all there below - ghettos and gridlock, opera houses and honky tonks, malls, museums and middle-income housing. The hub of the bub, concerted chaos. This, you say to yourself, is consciousness, knowing that every citizen below is (at best) only episodically aware of their part in this crowning glory. And This! To be able to float here and see it all happening, the automatic vitality of it - This is truly enlightenment!
Then the cinematographer interrupts your cosmic reverie and says he has to switch lenses, some kind of Kirlian funkfilter, and the entire tableau grays out and dies down. Only one patch of brightness sticks out amidst the gauze, right behind where you thought city hall was, so you zoom in to get a look and its nothing really, just a field like in the country, no development, definitely rural. There's a couple rows of crops and some kind of cud-chewing critter out in front of a little shack. You wonder how this could exist downtown, and why you didn't see it before, why everyone seems to build away from it, so you focus in for a closer look. The closer you look, the harder it is to keep in focus, so you try to stare at the screen door which seems to be just opening or just closing, you stare real hard and are startled when a sudden voice comes from just behind your shoulder –
"You ain't from around here, is ya?"
whirl around and the filter flies off and the city rushes into foreground.
You look back and all you see is city hall, where there's a demonstration
against "special interests" in progress. You know you'll never find that
particular plat in the municipal stacks, and as you zoom out and over the
tips of the towers and down the aquiline nose of the Thing King, you start
to wonder again 'bout this "thing" called consciousness.
copyright 1998 calvin burgamy
Tonight at 9:00 on the Little Square Box, When Humans Attack, Part 2. Yes, the rivers run red with blood when humans attack. See supposedly civilized human beings attack fish, fowl and other beasts of the wild and all without provocation. Their bloodlust knows no bounds when feral urges take over and reduces the mind to impotent observer.......some scenes may be too shocking for fainthearted viewers, wolverines, bears, woodchucks, ducks, geese and others......
We see two ducks floating like sitting ducks.They do not see hunter not floating with camouflage and a rifle.
Pan or zoom to ducks.
Bill Duck: We were just swimming (quack, quack) in the lagoon. We were thinking everything was just ducky, when Frank Duck and I and about 6,000 other ducks just got the urge to fly (quack, quack, quackquackflap). We were only about 50 feet up in the air when we heard shots (quack, quack, quackduck). Suddenly Frank Duck is falling back down into the lagoon. (quack, quack, quacksplash). I went down after him and as soon as I (quack-quack) looked at him I knew he wasn't going to make it. He looked up at me with these questioning eyes.
Frank Duck: Quack, quack....Bill, is that you?
Bill Duck: Yeah, Frank, quack, quacksniff, its me.
Frank Duck: I can't feel my legs Bill. I'm hurt bad....quackhackhack...
Bill Duck: You're gonna quacklie make it. The ambulance is on its quackklaxon way. .
Frank Duck: The sun's goin' down way too fast, Bill...quackkkkkcroak.....
Cut to Bill Duck: Quack. We thought several millions years of civilization, the domestication of animals and fresh frozen produce would have tempered the raging homo sapien bloodlust of humans. But no....just because they say they are civilized doesn't make it so. I sure wouldn't want one for a pet. Quack.
to Homo Sapien::
at 9:00. When Humans Attack, Part 2. So shocking, so real, so sensational,
so stultifyingly stupid it could only be on the Little Square Box.