Why do you wear your hair in horns? Why did you sell to the slicks? Had to make a living, dear boy. Well, you broke the code, never break the code. Ha, ha. Go and fetch me a gin, that’s my code, you mayonnaise snuffler. Why don’t you go set your head on fire? Why don’t you go make love to a muzzle loader? We can’t all spend our days shooting ostriches and bicycling through trout streams while riding water buffalo over the roofs of Mexican ski cabins, now can we? Look, bloated is no way to look big. You wrote a perfect book and it drives me crazy. Where in the hell is my cat?
HA HA HA HA HA HA. Somebody bring me a drink the size of Jupiter. Somebody light this cigarette. Somebody take off my glasses, clean them, hand them back to me. Holy claptrap. Why am I in this photo? You know one time I went to see Walden Pond (not so long a drive from my residence in Harlem) and at the bottom was a beer can. Take note. Take note.
Your books are absolute rubbish. Run along, sonny. Run along to the mall or the disco or wherever it is you get your information. When I see a V of swans I follow the V with my eyes and think about your collected works. When I see a crane walking along the rooftop (nesting in chimney–yes, they actually do that [Why not get outside yourself?]) and a little boy shoots it with a BB gun I think of your collected works. When a lager is flat, a woman stumbles into the street, a group of tourists are chasing down a goat with a stick…wait a bloody minute! Terminator Two is on the telly! I’m out.
OPEN your fucking eyes.
Don’t want to.
Dear, open your eyes. We’re not going to have a staged photo and you closing your fucking eyes.
Don’t want to. Why should I abdicate my free will?
Open your eyes. How does my pipe look, the angle?
Can’t see it.
Open your eyes! Look at my pipe!
No. We’re all going to die, very, very soon.
Open your eyes!
Don’t want to. I am abandoned on this earth in the midst of my infinite possibilities, and, I for one, would like to shoot this little gun with my eyes closed. This is my destiny. I don’t ask for help. Later I’ll have a sandwich, with onions.
Open your eyes. Open your eyes, dear.
I am free.
We’re exhausted. We just came in from chopping trees on the farm, you know, for firewood. Brett here owns several farms. We got blisters and like leaves in our hair. I almost hit my knee with the axe, the left knee, this one here. Brett caught a fish and built a fire and cooked the fish’s tail and told me it would be crunchy like a potato chip. It was nothing like a potato chip. Winter will be hell. Brett noticed a squirrel with an extra bushy tail and says it is sign, a sign of a hard, hard winter. We did some coke and shot the squirrel. We ate its brains. Winter is going to be hell.
You took out the herd of elephants?
I did. It was ridiculous.
But you left in the haunted house, right?
Of course. The house is there…boarded up, OK. Not really like a haunted house, more abandoned. I took out the vampire.
Sorry. I put the house in yesterday and took out the vampire and the elephant herd. You don’t want an elephant herd in there, trust me. What else? Is anyone going to live in the house? Jesus, give me something. When is this thing due? You’re angry about the vampire now, aren’t you? God, my eyes are hurting. At least go get me some water.