The great commune will be filled with love. Love-juice will spring forth from each Slavic hooker as Che spice fills the air and Trotskyite fur merchants sell coke to Sally Jesse Rafael. And after the 44th War of Immensity the STAR CHILDREN will return to harvest the scuzz-ruddle.
The GREAT COMMUNE built potato guns to fire a missile to the Moon, sending spew-funk to the edge of the universe and leaving Kubrick a way out. J-HAWK masters massaged the wooden staff and brought forth hydrazine for the making. And the engine glowed red then white hot, love hot.
THE GREAT COMMUNE will have a 24/7 salad bar, the freaks will hangout all night drinking and shoving kale down their throats and talking about the proletariat. The TRADE REPS will squabble about their “steel to sugar” ratios, as the diabetes eats away at their brains and their souls ooze away into the storm drains. The waitress will refill your basket of cheese-bread and clean the vomit off of the sneeze guard. And tickler-spen critters will break down the droppings that fall easily from each chair, through a hole in the bottom.
The GREAT COMMUNE built a STAR CRUISER called the MONESTRA and she was big and bold and covered in glass. She had copper tube engines and asbestos filter life support, her two stroke uranium engines emitted a stink-color-green and caused the itchy tumors. Sig-sect dealers would trade their banjo spice for a ride on this great SPACE BATTLESHIP, but nobody made it past the abandoned factory where she lay. Just eggs for gray clatter squid and the monthlies checked in early for the booby girls.
My commune leader gave me permission to leave the compound and forage for brazzle-berries and gabe-fruit. I found a lost jib, and removed its skin to inculcate the untoward British crone. Skizzy, my ass mistress, went to town – opening four toenail parlors outside of Brooklyn Heights. The submarine fleet monitored our wanderings, and we finished the day sunbathing near the reactors.
THE GREAT COMMUNE will use snig-niggets for most work – these are dwarfs and midgets that are bred to clean homes and take care of toilet grease and scrape away the dried urine. They would work the fields and pull the comrades about on a rickshaw. When the midgets get too old they are fed to the wild pigs and then the pigs are slaughtered because you can make a great BACON with them … seasoned.
You spend time in the COMMUNE meeting the phone booth cadres covered in mongoose stock and regal splendor. Your DICK HEAD BOSS is COMMISSAR FRED and his new boss just won the Worker’s Award for Total Dedication. You grabbed a spazz nugget from Michael, and sought after the fire burdens of TOOLEY and BRIM. The food that is fed to you comes from the abandoned stadium, and old hot dog chunks keep you company by the gallows.
The great commune has:
- free body flushing
- enemas
- scoob-slice pizza
- jindo-nurses
- hot cider Tuesday
- wooden princes
- log cabin heroes
- tomato sausage
- color TV
- mudflats
- forbidden pastures
And so we return home again, to the COMMUNE.
THE GREAT COMMUNE.
Our last bastion …
Our only hope.