Category: METASTOPIAN

I got a message from the doctors at the HEART INSTITUTE of WESTERN ALABAMA, they told me they needed to replace my heart with an 8 valve system, with a tiny little man inside … shoveling coal … all fucking day, that’s what the docs say.

They said I should care, about the bear, hidden in a lair, there’s a snare … and this is your heart …. and this is your fart … and your pal, Troubled AL, eats cherry tarts …

It’s your heart bro …

It’s time to go …

A little man, with a lunch can, is shoveling coal inside of my chest hole.

I got a message from my dentist … his name is BOB, he’s a slob, he eats cob from a jar in his car … which is also his dental office. He lives in the streets he hunts what he eats. He met a girl … near the broken sea … the land had turned gray, but everything is OKAY with Bob.

He said I needed 5 toothal removal surgeries involving bicycle chains and rebar and broken concrete and an acetylene torch. It seemed careful and well done, and my good friend CHIP who’s very very HIP, came to me in a clip, in his Porsche, eating borscht … I got to the place, Bob numbed my face with a wrench to the back of my head … I was nearly dead … but the teeth were gone, and in their place, on my paralyzed face, were iron and blue, nasty glue, but it looked GREAT …

That’s what the guy said …

When he got back to me …

When he opened his butt up to the universe.

I got a message from my anal surgeon, he’s been fishing for sturgeon. He said it’s time, for the pipe, and the slime, and the camera in my BUTT. Like PIZZA HUT memories gone GREEN, never to be seen by any mean witch named Jan, in a van, with a watch and a smelly crotch … smelly crotch Jan … living in a van … taking time for herself.

My butt surgeon has 9 kinds of knives, each one reveals a different part of your meal in your gut … you food slut … he swears as he tears at your anus … poignant.

The surgery took hours …

No one sent flowers …

I was unable to shower my ass without smoking grass, it was bad …

But I’m better now.

I pee like a cow and eat puppy chow for food … so good … my mood …

I got a message from my CHIROPRACTOR … He said it’s time to come by or my back is gonna die.

His name is ERNIE, he’s on a journey, his mind is covered in sleaze, he has marked up knees … wonder why? Is Ernie gonna die? Is his body full of death? Did you smell his shit breath?

He said my alignment was crooked and my aura was blue-green honey-nut biscuit.

He said my saliva was jelly and my goose was cooked and there’s no way and that’s okay for now … he slaughtered a cow … pulled out the stones … and soon my mind was blown.

I got the fucking message.

I got the fucking message.

I’m eating right, getting ready for the fight.

LATE LAST NIGHT …

MY THERAPIST SLASH HOOKER …

Left me a message …

“Dan, you need to slow down. You need to speed up. You need to let go of your buttercup illusions. You need to work out. You need to lose weight. You have a broken gait and it’s late for your kind of grooving. Take several tablespoons of epson salt, and place it in a small glass … add in squirrel tonsils and other kinds of kale and then BAIL on your burning world. Set SAIL for the NEW HIGHER LIVING somewhere EAST … EAST of ANTARCTICA …”

I got the message.

I got the fucking message.

It’s time for multivitamin lifestyle …

Walk a mile …

Find a dead skunk and building barley bunk for your WIFE, the one in the hole, you left her there, so she’d be eaten by a bear.

I got the message.