13/10/2013 - THE SIDESHOW WAS NOT IMPERFECT

The sideshow was not imperfect nor was it episodic. It was merely an outsider opinion on a world filled with chitin and oxygen, a reaction to all the bad juju that lives and works its trade amongst our limbs and embolisms. The tribes that rise from its catacombs stand surprisingly tall at least thirty four feet, grinding their teeth against ocular reefs. Occasionally their molars catch against abandoned housing estates and make an unforgivably irate sound in lieu of a happy hunter pay check. These guns are there to take them down, one after their stinking other, cousin after lonely cousin. Their loneliness is what we’re counting on. We have the stakes and what it takes to be normal so these chumps don’t have to, that makes them vulnerable to our pockets and the twitching going on inside them. This is how we instigate.

We dress up as radical ladies of video game descent and charge them thrifty dollars to show them what lies beneath our underclothes which will, of course, be no more than a handful of measly peanuts and dandruff. Then we launch our head traumas and watch them cripple themselves with aneurisms and marriage annulments. It’ll go down delicately and some might even chip in their front teeth for a new laptop bag, if you know what I mean which of course you don’t because I don’t pay you to know what the hell it is that I mean. You’re already proving yourself to be better than half of those Italian recruits who lost their lives in the battle of metres and grey skin cells. Good riddance to burly rosebud rogues. I don’t make them but I sure as hell smoke them out good. Just call me the Super Rat Killer with foppish tendencies and a measured inclination. I have an incinerator if you think that’ll help garner attention. I could display it, just say.

As for the bulges of ageing eyes on a lovely-shaped woman and her dreamy livelihood, there isn’t much I can do but offer her my condolences. It just means that the giants have gotten to her existentialism and stripped it away like skin off a chicken drumstick, cannon to the heart-wrenching speech they always like to promise but never deliver on. I might have been witness to it at one time but no way am I letting it happen on my watch again. My hands are too red to even pick up the phone, a condition which happens when I’m not under pressure in fact. It’s a tremulous auteur who comes forward and becomes forward in his beliefs, he needs the spine of an idiot iron girder and the swappable soul of an entire beachside population. You’re coming with me, Sonny Jim, because I’m not fighting him while this steaming. So much for work for the body against the clock. Tiffs instigate the clock which basically means activate but I like to sound technical before I try to wipe you out of the equation completely.