Saturday, January 1, 1994

Kut With A Kitchen Knife - the Musical! (by Khris Soden)

"You're all a whirling h'ors derve fish when your mined gets at it," said the blindman who kept telephoning the Seamier One. "Yer girlfriend is a painted sock doll with a head full of saw dust." Seamy Citizen slams down certain said receiver with Blindman in tow, kwestions to self: "Head full of star dust, eh?"

Well everyone knows the true truth about him, and his head swimming in a sinkhole. Who cares? "Not I," said Mother Mary the Flying Nun of Media Moguls, Merchandising Mavens, and Mad Mating Matrons Martyred by Mussolini. "Furthermore, President Mister President doesn't care, Speaker of House Man don't care, Pope John Paul Ringo George Oldest Joke in the Holy Book the Second don't care. Drew Barrymore's a whore, and Frank Zappa's dead."

Well, thinks the Seamiest, I gotta go get me some get up and go. Maybe I'll take a walk and join the Stupid Assholes Club. Maybe I'll take a wok and a john down at the stooged All Hole Pub. Maybe even I could sit and swim sit and spin in my scathing skull steaming stewartly in hopes that haggard headed girl of many colours girl to be true shit-faced for brains will call. Or the Blindman might call again.

So our Hero of Heroics pulls on his boots and pulls on his socks and pulls on his sex and puts on his suit with creases as sharp as a knife. And dives out into the Great Outdoors which is something that none of the readers in our audience have ever done. Jumped into the sun, jumped into the sky, jumped into that hole into oblivion. Held in the oblivious. Walked from Main Street to that street to your street and did. And was. And felt because the seamier, and only the seamier, are into being real these days. Feet in the concrete, hands on the wool mittens. Head in atoms. Everyone else either watching teevee or drinking espresso.

Khris Soden is not allowed to play with knives, kitchen or otherwise.