Is the gluten boogie a form of cannibalism?
The life coach cleans his toenails in his lair with a bent-open paperclip,
brooding. Why is his worst fear as a grown man to be eaten alive?
Wondering if he should come out with it,
because the answer (he believes) is fascinating: the
body sheds cells, the cells go into our clothes,
and one day whoever eats him will take said
clothes to a laundromat – now, this is where he (he believes) might be
reanimated from the cells and stains (chocolate cells) in the
clothing of the folks that had eaten him. Why is he so afraid of water?
Of bubbles? Of spinning around in a machine?
Bonnie & Clyde aren't merely passive aggressive.
They're also socially awkward. Victims of neglect by their friends.
The spacecraft isn't working properly until someone
Pepsi-burps the Outer Limits tune into the ship's vents.
Causing said spaceship to first bounce a little. Called a courtesy bounce.
Of which the life coach would be terrified, since he's
terrified of the machines that traditionally populate laundromats.
People find the Ukrainian answer to chemo cruel: butterflies.
The pelvic strut bought on eBay helps the dying old man
ride his iron lung down the street like a fucking daredevil.
He also bought a pedal for enhancing his halitosis. Open mouth –
step on pedal. The harder you step, the more intense the halitosis.
Havoc. Mayhem. Total bedlam. Oh his breathing shall roar...
I wouldn't say it was merely acceptable – I'd say incest at
our house was positively bitchin' when my aunt brought out the cakes.
Spaceships cause cancer. The paperclip will eventually eat the
life coach's toe alive. Putting a measuring tape around the ghost
of his toe's waist. The answer to why things diminish is zero point two.
Waiting for the decimals to queue up after compound of shed cells...
Cake chloroform-soaked dangling over face while face frowns
with pleasure. Called laundromat reanimation. Lights. Blipping. Marquees.
Sporadic failure of Vegas to flap and fizz fashionably.