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The Hogs of Entropy 0167
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$$$$$$$$$$$ hogz of entropy #167
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>> "Hippo Crackers" <<
by -> Trilobyte
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you don't understand, i can't pick you up anymore. my back is going
out, i'm an old man, and my flesh is falling apart. if you want a smile on
your face, it's time that you go out and buy some flowers next to the
mcdonalds and maybe pick yourself up some gourds while you're at it. i just
can't live with your flatulence, your farting about with life and your
pathetic territorial arguments with your mother. you need to get past that.
it's about time you started smoking cigars and ignore the hatred given to
you by jeremy. he's a fucking bastard and only wants you for your soup.
damn, you make good soup, and i want to eat it all the time. will
you marry me? understandably, you are a busy woman, and i don't want to
intrude on your marriage. but it's my duty, and i believe that you want to
do the same. or noodles.
xavier suggests that you heed my warnings. beware the ides of march,
as he said.
if everyone has a gift, jumping to conclusions is mine, i suppose,
since i believe you love me. you can't have it, and i wish i didn't. but i
do. just like my shoes -- even if they smell horrendous, i have to put up
with them because they haven't fallen apart yet so i can't warrant getting
new shoes. not until people like you start complaining about it will i go
out and buy new shoes. they're black.
you're not black. i know someone's who's black. she's a girl and
she's black and she goes to my school. there's a couple of people like
that. they write short songs and then beg for forgiveness from people with
large mohawks. mixing eggs into my hair is not my forte, but then again, it
is not yours either, so i don't need to talk about it.
you remind me of igneous rock. when you are warm, you meld into the
spaces around you and flow as liquid. but once you have cooled down, you
are hard and rough.
i've never seen you warm. should i light you on fire? xavier wants
me to light you on fire.
"haha," xavier says.
xavier has a fucking stupid name. xavier. sounds like some sort of
king name or something. you know in school when you are learning the
alphabet and they always say fucking "xylophone" for the letter x because
the rest of the words are not pronouncable? well, they should say "xavier".
xavier is a dumb enough fucking word.
i don't actually know anybody named xavier. now i will talk about
his desire to not be spoken about.
he is a rather shy fellow with a pale round face and dark black hair.
he is very thin and five foot four. if you punched him in the abdomen, he
would double over and probably become deceased. he has asthma and wants to
be a woman someday (though he doesn't know it).
once he looked for a secret shopping center and missed out; the sale
was over; the roof caved in. they say it was due to poor drainage on the
roof. water gathered up there like a miniature lake and then, one day, when
all kinds of people were in the store, the water came crashing through the
roof. that's pretty dumb. why didn't it wait until xavier was there?
everything else does. it's like he's a magnet for disasters. if i knew
him, i would speak of the time that he was playing guitar with a trampoline
and it fell over and molested him.
no, it didn't molest him.
it
umm
did something else to him; and then he called for his mommy and she
was wearing a teddy and ran out into the studio in their yard and pooped on
him and then he ran away and has lots of problems.
poor xavier.
xavier kind of rhymes with saviour, you know. and really, you are my
saviour. did i mention that i love you? you and all of the flaming whale
oil that go along with it. why not warn people about water? if they're
going to spray it at you, they should yell at you first, so you don't get
bruised and then fall over and blush about the water and it's cooooOoOOld so
you get chicken pox.
undeniably, you are NOT made of paper, and i know, because you didn't
tear when i ripped you. you must be... cardboard or fiberboard or
something, and you fucking suck. you were made by a paper factory? what
the hell is wrong with you?
i am going to have your children, and i am going to give them food
and lovin' so that they grow up to be well-centered individuals who don't
follow trends and manage to pay attention to the little things in life and
squat bugs that buzz around their eyeballs. that is, if they have eyeballs.
yeah, genetic deficiencies. i had one once. they said that it gave
me a disease or something and then you came along and i forgot about it.
but now that you're gone, i remember -- i want to buy you flowers, you got
me over all of that shit that i was going through. and even though your
breasts aren't as big as you want them to be, they're big enough to be
yours, and you are big enough to be mine. so come on over here and smite my
potato. repeat yourself over and over until you can't bleed any longer, and
then suck your innards dry and work on that project you've been meaning to
put off for years now.
picture this: german men cutting the wires to piped-in audio in
american hotels.
it could be you -- it could be anyone. it could be german men.
wearing suits; or hats -- pants, hemp. jingles run through my mind, it's a
sign of being american and playing the organ -- i can't help but open up
your timecapsule to investigate the fruits of your diapers. deep, deep, run
run run run run. run run run, run from those who are chasing you, because
you just taken some shite and you feel alright
neeeeever fun
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* (c) HoE publications. HoE #167 -- written by Trilobyte -- 12/26/97 *
