RASPBERRY OVOID TOROID HYBRID RAT REICH CHICKENHEAD-CUM-NUGGET GYPSY
I had this dream the other night that I cracked open a jar of large frozen raspberries for a snack. Unfortunately, there was also a frozen rat mixed in. The raspberries were melting and so was the rat and his hair was all plastered down and frozen and mixed in with the frozen raspberry syrup. The rat was raspberry-shaped, meaning it was rat-shaped, because in the dream raspberries were apparently what we might, in waking life, call rat-shaped and rat-sized. I assume this means that dream rats are raspberry-shaped, an ovoid/toroid hybrid. The rat had been moulded into the dream shape "raspberry" which is the waking life shape "rat," much like the chickenhead-cum-nugget in the MacDonald's Chicken McNugget urban legend. In the dream, rats were appropriate and common fare, and I felt like a Nancy Boy, a Gladys, a real Cynthia, because I didn't want to eat the rat, nor the raspberries with gray rat hair stuck to them. I was embarassed to tell my compatriots about my sissy eating habits, my gastromasculo pride bruised. I'm sure I had this dream because I just finished Philip K. Dick's Dr. Bloodmoney, in which the Phocomelus, in one of his visionary fits, see Stuart McConchie in the afterlife "eating a dead rat raw."
On the subway yesterday evening, I saw this guy with a jerrycurl fauxhawk.
I stayed in Park Slope last night at Doc's. I want to live in Park Slope. It doesn't smell like East Village trash and it has trees. You can see trees from Doc's windows! We went out with KoKo and some Wesleyan kids to Buttermilk. We talked about the fading phenomenon of heavy ghettoized Eastcoast slang and/or Brooklyn thugspeak peppered with multisyllabic academic jargon in Northeastern private colleges. I drank too much whiskey and beer. KoKo disappeared in the bathroom for a really long time and we thought he'd pulled his old highschool pass-out-in-the-locked-bathroom trick, but when the bartender picked the lock it turned out he was just taking a shit. Too bad. Doc and I went back to his place and passed out watching Arrested Development. I didn't even get to see David Cross, whom I have a really big crush on. Not that he's so good looking in that show, what with the moustache and all, unless your name is Lisa Rybovich-Crallé, but whatever. We had cheap diner food this morning (2 dolla fuckin 30 cent for two eggs over light, coffee, OJ, b'fast potatoes, and wheat toast. That's better than Waffle House, motherfuckers!) We perused the stoop sales, where I bought this really rad drinking horn from some gypsies. That means Supreme Manticoricity in terms of the Viking/Slavic hybridity, at the stoop sale and also ensuing from my marriage to Doc in 5 years. The Gypsies threw two buffalo nickels into the deal and let me pet their baby. Doc and I wanted to ask to live with them. They were dressed funny and had lots of makeup on and had a baby and had ridiculous fake accents. I felt great pride in my own Bohemian heritage. I'm the Slav R.A.T., bitches! N to the A to the GY! Then I ate a bagel and took a nap in Prospect Park.
"...And he saw beyond the grave. He saw me eating a dead rat. And it was raw. Why would I eat a dead rat? It must be a terrible world, the next reincarnation, to live like that. Not even to cook it but just to snatch it up and gobble it down. Maybe even fur and all; fur and tail, everything."
On the subway yesterday evening, I saw this guy with a jerrycurl fauxhawk.
I stayed in Park Slope last night at Doc's. I want to live in Park Slope. It doesn't smell like East Village trash and it has trees. You can see trees from Doc's windows! We went out with KoKo and some Wesleyan kids to Buttermilk. We talked about the fading phenomenon of heavy ghettoized Eastcoast slang and/or Brooklyn thugspeak peppered with multisyllabic academic jargon in Northeastern private colleges. I drank too much whiskey and beer. KoKo disappeared in the bathroom for a really long time and we thought he'd pulled his old highschool pass-out-in-the-locked-bathroom trick, but when the bartender picked the lock it turned out he was just taking a shit. Too bad. Doc and I went back to his place and passed out watching Arrested Development. I didn't even get to see David Cross, whom I have a really big crush on. Not that he's so good looking in that show, what with the moustache and all, unless your name is Lisa Rybovich-Crallé, but whatever. We had cheap diner food this morning (2 dolla fuckin 30 cent for two eggs over light, coffee, OJ, b'fast potatoes, and wheat toast. That's better than Waffle House, motherfuckers!) We perused the stoop sales, where I bought this really rad drinking horn from some gypsies. That means Supreme Manticoricity in terms of the Viking/Slavic hybridity, at the stoop sale and also ensuing from my marriage to Doc in 5 years. The Gypsies threw two buffalo nickels into the deal and let me pet their baby. Doc and I wanted to ask to live with them. They were dressed funny and had lots of makeup on and had a baby and had ridiculous fake accents. I felt great pride in my own Bohemian heritage. I'm the Slav R.A.T., bitches! N to the A to the GY! Then I ate a bagel and took a nap in Prospect Park.
"...And he saw beyond the grave. He saw me eating a dead rat. And it was raw. Why would I eat a dead rat? It must be a terrible world, the next reincarnation, to live like that. Not even to cook it but just to snatch it up and gobble it down. Maybe even fur and all; fur and tail, everything."