people don’t call so often any more




my answering machine blew a head gasket
its steering wheel fell, spinning on the floor
plus it reeks, smell wafting through the house

at the telephone answering machine repair shop
in gothic downtown Helmer, Georgia
spare telephone answering machine parts,
plastic ribbons, rubber pulleys, micro tiny shiny metal barrels,
thin aluminum rings piling to the ceiling
I said to helmer with all these piecemeal answers

sprang instead for a questioning machine

now when the phone rings
it jumps to life and asks

what’s the capitol of missouri?
why is there so much mud in the world?
how long were you at the rave?
did you get that picture of me saving your life?
why do billionaires want more money?
how do you re-fry beans? do you re-eat them?
does your dad have an F-16 I could borrow for the weekend?

people don’t call so often any more

what’s up with that?

Rumsfeld, Cheney caught blowing chunks in White House Rose Garden. Yes, even two of the president's most trusted and powerful advisors have panic attacks, dark feelings of remorse, wild eyed heart stopping fear and irritable bowel syndrome. Just yesterday, whirled headquarters dot com's intrepid field reporter, Sdji Hvartic, was cruising the White House area looking for personal interest stories when she spotted the two politicos bending over behind a rose bush and "hurling bigtime". Cheney was heard saying, "Fucking French are making me sick!" Rumsfeld--"And those Turks------BLEEECK, RALPH!!!"
Sdji said it got pretty gross watching a couple power mad men relax their cardiac sphincter (see diagram) so she went to get a pack of mints or something.

President’s daughter caught masticating in public. Jenna Bush, who could have gone anywhere in the world on her spring break from Yale, chose to stay on campus, drink beer and chew with her mouth open. Observers, who wish to remain unnamed because Jenna’s daddy is dictator of the free world, indicated that the younger Bush particularly resembled the President when stuffing her face with French Fries and foie gras and playing “Show and Tell” with the Secret Service agents hovering in the shadows.

Free electrons thing of past. Physical physicists, as opposed to mere theoretical physicists, have determined that what’s "fucking everything up" is that we have enslaved too many electrons. “Before Edison, electrons could zip around from atom to atom, according to their supernal preferences,” propounded Clik Munderheim of Cal Tech. “But now, quizillions of electrons are stuck in chip circuits, beef fat and marital aides, such as the Hitachi 500 Rodeo Phlange. It’s just so sad. Isn't it?” Munderheim explained that a new tax on electrons would fund a program to pay for free electrons. He thinks this would really un-fuck things up.

Small things have a disproportionately large effect, according to government study. “Small things affect big things a lot more than big things affect the small. Or is that effect?” inquired Dr. Bruno Yasski of NASA. “For example, mountain ranges,” gesticulated the nervous Yasski. “Mountain ranges, which are pretty damn big, rarely shut down the international banking system, but computer chips often do. And those chips are quite small,” spluttered Yasski. When told he had a small piece of spinach lodged between his teeth and that nobody had heard a word he'd said because they were so distracted, the good doctor further proved his point by running head first into the wall, with no noticeable effects whatsoever.

the laws of thermodynamics, applied:

first law: energy can’t sit still
second law: free time is somebody else's work
third law: it’s cool to make heat
objective conclusion: energy can’t be lost or found
subjective conclusion: yes it can
corollary: it stings a little

hot stuff becomes cold stuff quickly
inside space there is a molten chamber
and a one time
one word
one pass word to enter
it is recognized
or re-codified
in the heat of the moment

where does heat go?
heat lost on pluto
pauses briefly in your kitchen
to fry your onions
your sweet chipolte peppers
on the front left burner
before continuing on its way
to expand a universe
just dying to cool down

friction
fiction
cold hard facts
hot romance novels
life is like an ocean
icebergs and thermal vents
might sting a little
and sharpen the senses

. . . the laws of thermodynamics, applied


by the boy poets riding thermals

This just in from our literary criticism department: The good thing about fiction is it's a lot more believeable than the alternative. Plus the fact that there's no such thing as non-fiction.

Accountant disturbed by inflating universe. No other details available at press time other than the general advice of "don't hold your breath".

High Alert: Department of Homeland Security declares that most people employed by the US government are "High". States Tom Ridge, Secretary of the Dept of Homeland Security, "About 12 people in the CDC in Atlanta ( CDC employee, Chief of Toxicology, Biff Glenn, in photo on left uses beaker-bong to get "High" ) lit a sizable "bong" in the beaker washer room and that was enough to put the total number of government employees who are "High" over 50%. I think the alert color for "High" is orange or red-orange, isn't it? Very pretty and look at the trails!"

Cat claims ninth area of man's home exclusively hers for napping. Bijou, a prominent Atlanta, Georgia cat, in the home she shares with Moe Nuffy, a human being, today laid claim to the green wool blanket atop the northernmost cushion on the living room sofa. Bijou staked out the area at 6:13 P.M. today and remained ensconced there throughout the eveing, impervious to the carefully reasoned arguments by Nuffy that he was left with only three sitting areas in the household--none of them cushioned, compared to nine for Bijou--all of them cushioned. At long last, growing weary of Nuffy's repetitious whining, Bijou stated flatly that the ratio of seating area distribution obviously and accurately reflected the respective hours of sleep logged daily by the two members of the household.

New government study describes ideal roommate. According to an extremely thorough and timely government examination of "roommates" as we know them, the ideal roommate is super-depressed and feels really bad about it. That way, the roomate is usually all crapped out so you can do whatever you want without asking the roomate if it's "all right", and the roommate really doesn't care when all the junkies and fallen Unitarians you know come over for an early lunch around midnight, and spill all their resinous illicit stuff all over creation.
Most of the rest of the study was devoted to explaining how this would help the goddam president's fucking tax plan.

Tom Ridge identifies next terrorist target: Tom Ridge ordered the Decatur regiment of the Sons of Daughters of Confederate Veterans onto 24 hour and a half guard at the Cyclorama (a bunch of dummies in a circle) in Atlanta, Georgia. The chintzy and dearly held painting of Sherman's march through Atlanta was under a code "triple deep red" threat level. Tom Ridge also urged Atlanta residents to participate in a "drive-on-the-left-side-of-the-road" day to foil terrorists and other nimrods. Tom Ridge said, "Hopefully at least half the people will participate. We're betting it will be good for the economy."
Tom Ridge also mandates that all anti-terror sentences will start with the words, "Tom Ridge."

Baby Jewish girl named Jesus gets solid chocolate Bible at naming ceremony. Our reporters said the chocolate was really, really good. And it was very long. Because after all, it's a Bible.

Middle manager seeks salvation through cloning. Guy Mann, Middle Manager at Lefty's You Can Em, You Eat Em and Shoe Repair, has chosen to "straighten out my bass ackwards karma by raising my cloned self. That's right, what I got here," pointing to mass of protoplasm in a kleenex, “is me all over again." Guy Mann Sr. has adopted Guy Mann Jr., a not-yet-human being on whom Guy Mann Sr. pins his fraying hopes for salvation.
"I tried everything else to fix my bad self, you know, the army, the navy, the marines, religion, the lottery, ouija board parties, free association, acrimony, lightness-of-being, the U.S. Patent Office, auto repair, cross-dressing, a starter marriage, my gun collection, selling my gun collection, starting my gun collection over, you name it, nothing worked. My karma was still skanked out."

Despite mostly countervailing opinion from a panel of experts, Mann insisted that his grouchiness, bad taste, rampant god complex and a diet heavy on the mayo did not represent his true self. "Indeed," argued Mann, "who better to rectify these unfortunate warpages that tarnish my genome than me my own damn self?" Mann fumed, "The universe got us into this mess. You think the universe is gonna get us out?"