sailordrunk

(see previous entry for part one)

And so can you for only $19.95.

Violence visited upon his head.

I like to talk in funny voices,

(for instance)

Evil homicidal maniac Groucho Marx, (triumphant!)

"I'll defend you to the death!"

(aside)

"and by death I mean when I kill you!"

Uproarious laughter from the studio audience!

I think he sounds like a duck.

I love ducks. If I had one as a friend, I'd name him Groucho.

Late night info-mercials have warped my head,

Lou Reed's girls singing.

Buy! Buy-Buy! Buy-Buy! Buy-Buy! Buy-Buy! . . . .

Walk on the Wildside, or is it Lakeside. Shit you not.

Eric Estrada, selling lakefront property in Arkansas.

Martin Atkins drums for your studio track, $450.

So much I would like to say today, but for now I'll say fuck it.

That's right, I said fuck it.

We all got to make a buck to live in tommorow's promised world

Each an island to themselves, and me,

a dominion in my own skin, the Commonwealth of C_,

do declare "fuck it" to be my own personal

national anthem.

Bwa-ha-ha-ha!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I leave this to posterity, scrawled on crumbling brick wall.

Perhaps someday you will see me, or this trace of me,

chalked out:

Where are you?