“Are you…a guest author?”
“I’m a writer.”
“You’re neither.” Kwal Kahm poured bourbon over his palms and oiled his scalp. “You’re an occasional quiz night attendee and daily grinder who eats his meals at the appointed hour. You like the wrong videogames. You haven’t memorized Star Trek esoterica, you misconstrue philosophy and you fail to live up to your potential. Write me a short!”
“Kwal Kahm. I—”
“HURRY!!!”
Kwal Kahm fell over on his face.
“Hi-ho!” said Vonnegut.
“Is he dead?” asked the Cat-Shitting Cat.
“Hi-ho!” said Vonnegut, again.
“HA HA HA,” went Percival in that robot font of his.
Then, the four of us sang the first Guided by Voices tune I could find on the internet:
I drew up back when mr. skate came back from the attack
The official fag saw the cake tossed into the lake
And he crossed that lake with his overpaid army
Of rats and snakes on whiskey ships
And they are right, they were alive
They were fools, making rules
For their entrance into the butchery pools
Let them be and that’s the lesson
An overworked dreamer and his cronies
On minitracks and motorbikes
And a contest featuring human beings
And other less sprouts
And other less sprouts
GBV! GBV!
POOP PART 6
xox,
Richard