Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Worms on Washcloth

A spacious room, glaring light, background music, the Chief Masticator served worms on washcloth during the Head Body Lesson at the Department of Regulation. Wipe the eggs out of your eyes. Don't fly off the handle. Buzz through tears in screen door. Bang bulbs. Tear buzz through screen bulb bang lightning light oxygen deprived cells, writhing retina, porous pupil. Tricky thick thinking, ignore intelligence. Don't ask questions. Eat what's on your washcloth.

You are the product. Club Morono, the three Ohs or zeroes. Club market club to club oneself over the head, knock out a few brain cells in order to make hard pill easier to swallow. Plastic frozen meat room smell, to swallow the sugar-coated fat filled pill. One day the pills melt into pools of elephant urine. The urine evaporates, leaving salts.

Old cheese breath pasty mouth, goo in the throat, burning eyes, stiff neck and sore shoulders, grind the teeth, clench the jaw, start weeping and wailing. Welcome to hell. What is hell, other than a state of mind?

Tell us, in five seconds, your achievements and transferable skills.

Oorsis appeared in the form of a goat to Lohbado in a petting zoo at a campground along the winding, hilly highway beside the river to the ocean. She said: "I've had enough of your sadly mistaken lack of contact in your old world of too much time spent not enough with forgotten relatives."

Lohbado replied: "I'm so so so sorry. I will pour musty old sour wine on the ground to lubricate worms in their slithering. Intoxicated worms are easier to gather up in order to put into cans, to be opened when the occasion calls for the opening of a can of worms."

Stay tuned for future Club Morono episodes, which will feature A Man and His Goat; Larry's Lingering Litigation, or Mielo's Mediation.

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