MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20240601_SPIDER_EGG_PIZZA.mp3
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SPIDER EGG PIZZA:
I ran into DEZ MONTEZ …
He told me “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about spider eggs, what you can do with them things …” Dez and I go back to the swarthy days of chick rustling and FRIDAY NIGHT CINEMAX cable, we bled the white goo for Shannon Tweed and learned the secrets of boob magic from the b-style lovers and bird gropers from the valley. When DEZ was 13, he met Turk Calder and the Roller Boys of Blunkton, California. They made their way from Compton to LA with skizz-metal gear and motorcycles powered by GIZ GREASE and coyote chili.
Dez went on to describe a new RECIPE for PIZZA that he knew how to make, cheap …
“You can raise HERDS of spiders in some old shed out back, not far from the spot where we bury the dead cats”, he said you can make every part of the pizza from spider eggs and maggot juice.
Dez MONTEZ was a disco DUDE in the 1970’s, his BAND, “THE SCROBS”, was big when the lights flew from coast to coast and Farah Fawcett did nip-slip pics for $40 bucks a pop.
We, Dez, me, the Goobly Twins, went down to the Santa Monica pier to eat jurgen sandwiches with Bill Cosby’s lost son. After a few hours some cops showed up and began wailing on Dez with night sticks and bicycle chain and a pillow case filled with rocks. “You can scream but we don’t care”, then I got ahold of one of them BLUE FALCONs and tossed him into the sea to be eaten by sharks. The other cops bugged out, burning rubber and heading back to FRESNO to hang out with the WEST COAST HOOLIES of the California KKK. Then things got dark, because the scowl-monkeys from north Hollywood showed up, and then THEY started talking about this new joint that sold SPIDER EGG PIZZA … and this made Dez quite perturbed.
I knew DEZ was going crazy with street-rage. He’d been drinking all day and smoking meth and doing TRANQ so his wounds won’t heal. His hands were shaking as he looked down the boulevard toward the meeting of lights and the urban dread on the horizon. But it wasn’t just DEZ and his spider egg fantasies. It was my girl Lola, and the lost sidewalk urchins, that approached us … “YO DEZ, you got SPLIZZ?”
SPLIZZ was the new STREET FUEL, it was made from mixing ketamine with gunpowder and fentanyl and diesel fuel. Gurg-freaks would do splizz before heading OUT, downrange, to meet with the ZIPPO-CHICKS of SECTOR-12, and then show the NIGHT RED ROCKET to those tusky-wenches. Cops were getting addicted too, after so many crackdowns, and you could see those splizzed-out FIVE-OH driving sideways to Simi Valley, so their cradle mommas could sleep with just one black eye open.
I stopped taking my NURL-DROPS, the ones Dr. Benway recommended. My other physician, Dr. Grunkis, said my mind was “filled with mosquito larva and hippo spice”, and nothing good could happen to me until all my insides were drained out into a large steel drum, and then tossed into the sea off of Santa Catalina, where the wolf-groupers hunt dolphin and carp.
“WHEN I WAS A KID WE’D DRINK FERMENTED LOIN GREASE FROM STRAY CATS AND EAT SPIDER EGGS FOR DINNER! WHY CAN’T IT BE LIKE IT USED TO BE!”, I screamed to the street lamps, but they did not reply. Only the flicker of dying civilization in the rotting cables and corroded wires.
We get lost and forget why we’re here, breathing fumes, drinking pop-milk from 7/11. We get lost finding STIRLING LOVERS and the great cascade of chaos energy. The tunnels get filled with misunderstanding and dangerous cattle marches, the sewer snakes lurk near your toilet prison.
Spider egg pizza is popular now, and everyone is having a go. It’s bigger than CRISPY CHICKEN SANDWICHES or MCRIBB PUS PIE. Half of Los Angeles grows spider eggs in their basements or closets or attics … they’re digging holes to pile spider eggs into.
Spider egg pizza is cheap …
Life is cheap.
Life is spider eggs.
I lost track of the crew and walked back home like a zombie. The BLUE SHARKS or fentanyl freaks were out tracking raccoon and squirrel, cuz everyone has gotta eat something. After several nights of enchantment, I was left on the heap, sorting through my past to find a way back … back to where?
Just before dawn I reached the barbed wire and old corrugated fence that was the edge of my turf, where we hung, where we’d hang one day …
I saw the sun rising and mocking my dirty soul and the boilermakers were getting ready for work, to sell their turnips and babies to the swells that live uptown. They wrap themselves up in coffee and cigarettes and try to erase the mold stink from their clothes – but their lives dwindle now, and the candle is about to go out.
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