PLANETARY STATUS REPORT!

You find it at the grocery store, in the place they keep the hoog-fish and the salamander monkey juice.

You find it in the street, where the wild things go to die after the midnight poisoning. The MOON shines the way to these broken morsels and your woman promises to make the scourge stew, as if any final moment is regrettable and each passing sandwich can be flushed.

Vinyl and torn, the rabbit has tumors …

The tumor meat is FLESH MAGIC, and our tacos continue.

I was working for Gerald Fites, and his army of donor rats – he was chief chef at the new restaurant off of Gypsum Street. His sister managed the city kennels and made fresh cats available, the rich people didn’t care. They thought it was “Thai-Mexican fusion with a Boston spice”, but what it was? – Chinese magic, and overdosed SNEEG fruit.

Figger? – he gathered stunkton-meat from the gutters outside St. Marks, the priests would spit and howl and talk about altar boys they’d “made men”. Figger would haunt those places out of remembrance for his sister Tara – the girl fished out of the bay, after the bishop was finished raping her.

Figger was addicted to 8 kinds of drugs …

Figger made a little extra money doing “deliveries” to the taco stands in Central Park, and his mate, Todd, helped him with the rats he could catch outside the children’s hospital.

One night, after the MET shut down and the penguins were ripe …

That one night Figger needed extra cash, and he understood it was about “meat”.

You could get cubes from the government outlet, and they’d say on the packaging “44 grams of scale-protein”, and not many knew what that was …

Scale-protein was something they gleaned from the landfill, usually 4 times a week, using straining machines – a scrumptious mixture of sloog and skrig and skunk and squirrel. The mixture was heated to remove biological activity, and the brown sugar was no more ready for the win.

Figger got lost in the wastes of Manhattan, no one saw him, gray and red …

Figger’s mind grew coarse over time as more of his friends got picked up, for just being there, existing. There were these new LAWS against “hanging around” or collecting near the abandoned McDonald’s. “Congregating” is what the city council called it, and people were just “picked up” and taken “some place”.

Some place downtown, funded by the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation, an old textile mill where sweatshop workers used to make sneakers and wallets – and now it was for the strangers, the ones that go missing. Cops just take them there, and then they just disappear – nobody cares, not as long as the MEAT keeps flowing.

New types of meat were now available:

1. purple passion grape
2. three finger pudding
3. tyson chicken brow
4. kidney stone pizza
5. howling banshee mole
6. parasite mist pie
7. hurried nut loin
8. tender mink frosting
9. morbid wine dressing
10. hendry spice grizzle
11. roast pork sides
12. tattoo jerk chicken

And there’s no telling where this goes …

They’re still grinding up mite and gnat larvae …

They’ll be selling CHEESE TOLEDO next Christmas …

MERRY CHRISTMAS!