Still Ill & Ill-Advised Still: HIV Bros

Jer: We're here for CANCER BEATDOWN, my death partner Ken and myself. Wow, Ken. You look like you got in the ring for a CANCER BEATDOWN and lost. Badly. How are you even alive?

Ken: There's where you err, Jer. I make no claim of livelihood. 

Jer & Ken: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Jer: Ya just our luck to get a charity gig, right audience? 

Ken: No, not right audience. They're all on their phones. 

Jer: They're probably calling you an ambulance. You really look like shit. 

Ken: Too bad they can't call an ambulance for the shit in your pants.

Jer: You mean a dump truck? 

Ken & Jer: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ken: Say I heard you gave your mom AIDS in the womb.

Jer: Say what? I hear you perform fellatio with your butt. Fraud much?

Ken: What now? How many time an hour you go back down on open ass with your prefer-not-to-say status?

Jer: I guess we good.

Jer & Ken: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ken: Wait. Your med port popped out of your chest, mate. Let me just

Jer: Don't you touch it. It's on break. It gets depressing in my body.

Ken: At first I thought it was another huge tapeworm like the one you sneezed out in the tanning bed or the one came out your eye and disappeared into the public sewer grate.

Jer: I hate you filthy bitch. 

Ken: I hate you disgusting dirty tramp hole fornicating disease vector.

Jer: ...and scene! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Thanks for your support everybody. Good night! 

Ken: Good night!

Ken & Jer: Beat it down!

[Ken and Jer fly at one another, punching, biting, and clawing, land on the stage and begin to draw blood and leave hair as MPS security struggles to pull them apart and get them back into their separate palliative cells at the Chang K. Chang Chank Chain Gang Med Tank.]

Opening Act

CANCER BEATDOWN CHUKKACHANK

Phyllis [trans.]
Sports N' Sex Crimes Bugle

"Why can they fly arounan lidderly shit on the community?"

Not only do they shit on the community, and not only is it deliberate, but it is also clearly amusing to them personally because you can hear their cackle echoing in the clouds or bouncing off chanks. Why don't they go out to sea. 

They do. We have to take the same precautions there. You're right. They crap wherever they want, and wherever they want is often a populated area, and yes, they think it's hilarious. 

Our ancestors were wrong to put up with it for all those years. 

You forget it was the other way around. K's were queen. We were their transition from hunting and gathering to farming and ranching, and they are the only reason we still even exist because some among them wanted to just keep eating unsustainably.

But now that they're in preserves, they've agreed to stop killing. 

True, but we know that many flekes die each year working serving worshiping vacationing in close proximity to K's, and we do not have jurisdiction in those lands. The high chanks, although modern and popular with pilgrims and tourists, are governed entirely by the Mthyuh Preservation Society, a group that also holds an iron grip throughout the Greater Chanks Phenomena on all cultural missions and communications. 

You refer to the Filter of Loathing. 

I am afraid so. They could decide to simply switch it off. 

Their religion, well, our religion would not exist without K's. They are living relics and so holy to the MPS and to the flekes as well. 

Are you willing to challenge all of that to avoid a few hours of shoveling each year? 

 

Welcome Day n. d.

"K's Fly Spread Eagle" Bring-a-Lunch breakout group 

Chang K. Chang Ballroom

[frag.]

Trans. by Phyllis

Disturbances above Chang K. Chang Chank

 

The Crack is home to a billion holes

They say The Crack is home to a billion holes. Pilgrims, daredevils, and lost hikers alike will never be able to predict when and where they will come out. 

The Community College of Cement's entire Chang K. Chang Chank campus is dark except for a few pools of security lighting-- and the strong yellow bug lamp which illuminates the Crack Door Event area. Jan's mom Jan Jansdaad's steaming underwing fat flap is all that's keeping Jan and Lloyd from falling hundreds of feet into the parking lot below. 

Jan lands as close as she can to the bug light, which is there for the air conditioning unit attached to the bookstore next to temporary mobile classrooms B-D. Most campus employees, students and visitors walk around the air conditioning unit instead of trying to duck under it, which could cause them to end up in sudden Crack-related peristaltic shock (SCRPS), and besides now being invisible, their associates quickly begin to forget they ever existed. In this respect, SCRPS can affect an entire community from one instance only.

Lloyd is trying to keep up with Jan and her mom. As the odd group rushes across the moonlit baseball fields, plumes of white chalk dust spray from below Mrs. Jansdaad's three-clawed feet. And then they have crossed a short span of black top, and then they have reached The Crack. 

They might sound a little like disco when they're running, but when they stop there's nothing but funk, says Lloyd.

Chat through an ancient stone glory hole at Chang K. Chang Chank Chain Gang Drunk Tank

LA CHAMA: So you're doing ok then?

ILLYN: Well, clawing my way back from a very dark place-- through vice and decadence-- but yeah, thanks for askin.

LA CHAMA: Can't always be ripping your spirit clean walking around with your skin hanging over your arm like a clown.

ILLYN: It's more painful than you can possibly imagine.

LA CHAMA: But picturesque, and that's what you do darling so what's happening now, in there, rats?

ILLYN: You know that rats can no longer survive an MPS prison. The social stigma is too great.

LA CHAMA: Haha there is no society. Hahahahaha!

ILLYN: Hahaha!

College of Cement, Chang K. Chang Chank Campus

OUR MISSION:

TO SUPPORT the local private business community so that, in addition to the tax breaks and new roads and stoplights they already get just for being kind enough to set up shop in our chank, they might be happy enough with the free training we provide their employees so as to be less likely to abandon our moldy, irrelevant old brick chank and take all the jobs with them.

TO OPERATE as if we were a successful, top-heavy, yet competitive for-profit business, while still being able to solicit, receive and spend tax dollars and private donations.

TO INVEST as much as possible in market research, publicity, recruitment, fundraising, customer satisfaction, institutional data management, commercial software packages, IT, buildings and grounds, and sport; and to provide excellent salaries and benefits to an important core staff of lucky fleyks from other places that can help make that happen for our community.

TO ENSURE that students are able to pay for the products and outcomes they purchase by focusing strategically on financial aid advising and any available student loan programs, public or private, to maximize the number of shiny coins each customer will bring with them through our doors. We have already installed the latest reverse-metal detectors at the main entrances to every campus.

TO SUCCEED in finding at least one student knowledgeable and cooperative enough to be able to speak as valedictorian at graduation and commencement in reasonably coherent English using an echo, a meme, at least, of rhetoric-like critical-thinky words.

TO PROTECT students from teachers who would attempt to deprive them of their dreams by word, deed, or assessment; these types of behaviors, including refusing to accept late work, not giving second chances on plagiarism, unwillingness to allow students to express their anger on them, unwillingness to allow students to scarf huge salads in class, sleep on the tables, or step in and out with their phones; these and any other actions that might create an impediment or delay to the receipt of the diploma once full payment has been received, will not be tolerated.

TO FIGHT professional teacher's unions and their members with every nerve, every fiber of our souls. We must resist their demands, destroy their organizations, and break their wills; alternately, we are open to a deal providing great full-time contracts, salaries and benefits to a small token group of their top leadership and depend on their historic penchant for corruption and brutality to bully it on down through the ranks from there.

WHY COLLEGE OF CEMENT

• College of Cement, Chang K. Chang Chank Campus (COCCKCC), is exactly the same, down to the graphics package on the website, as every other college in the Chanks. It is, perhaps, the shortest drive from your home.
• You may know an employee or want to get a job there some day, especially if you get too many DUI's and need work within walking distance during the winter months.
• Don't forget to check out our diversity statement and complimentary demographic maps; will you be comfortable with racial makeup of more distant alternatives? 
• Are you too busy achieving your dream to have time for study? 
• Just walk through our doors, and it will be like a party in your honor dude, just enjoy, no worries.

ACCREDITATION
 
Each year, our top administrators and executives climb up onto several buses for a trip down-chank to meet with past presidents of COCCKCC and other colleges, who make up the Board of Accreditation under the auspices of Mthyuh Protection Society (MPS). The Society has agreed to butt out of what is basically a dinner-and-drinks club for the last few dinosaurs of a serious, academics-based career-prep age which they know is long-gone, so it doesn't matter anyway.

HISTORY

Like every two-year college, COCCKCC was founded in 1964, and that's just darling. Skirts below the knee. Haha: shorthand! The white ones had already learned to read, write, and spell in high school back then. That's why grammar and punctuation are permanently barred from our curriculum.

BOARD OF TRUSTEES

• A racist homemaker.
• Retired Professor of Music, deaf.
• An older white gentleman, about 350 lbs.
• His brother in law, 285.
• Acting VP of local hospital.
• VP of local air conditioning company.
• A closeted gay dentist with a large local practice.

OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT

This is the office that's most political and cosmetic, but President-Superintendent Jansdaad is no mere hairdo on a figurehead. You can hand over your family's or company's "propina" into the waiting, sweating palms of Jan "Juicy Jan" Jansdaad-- or placed in an envelope marked "Kitty" and popped through the mail slot-- confidently and directly.

OUR FACULTY

We love our faculty! They are the ones with the professional credentials to provide the optics that scream, "legit operation."

Our core team of professional faculty are not distracted by having to sleep in their cars or attend required, unpaid "professional development" hours at multiple schools adding up to more time than what they actually get paid for even if you count the teaching part. They get to call all the shots in each department. They are the master teachers. We rely on them to make the decisions that count for all of our adjuncts and students in terms of choosing which mega-publisher has the best kickbacks and swag per hour of schmoozing with company reps.

1. Phil, 95, cannot stand at a lectern without prosthesis. Will be vested into retirement in less than 60 months under current state law.
2. Betty, a real B. She could smoke and tell you off at the same time back when smoking and talking were still allowed in the teaching cage. 
3. No original record containing the name of the third full-time professor has survived implementation of the Filter of Loathing decades back, but he is said to be waiting patiently in a hospice, nearly triumphant with his gender-discrimination lawsuit against the college for allowing a militant feminist auto-body student to snip off his face after failing a dent-pull-out midterm in 1985.

The rest of our "pool" teaching staff number in the thousands, but we might regularly call upon 600-800 of those, depending on current human trafficking statutes and how quickly they can submit their Statements of Self-Effacement and Full Legal Responsibility (SSEFLR) at the end of the prior semester. We've found that the teachers who pull in the most coins also tend to have signed off on their final grades well before the third week of class.

LOCATIONS

• Right there at the freeway exit. Look for the smoked glass and plastic trim.
• In the old cement factory that provided historic levels of gainful employment for our chank before the automation of cement. Interior has been entirely remodeled in plastic and smoked glass with chrome.
• Right there at the other freeway exit in the landmark chrome-and-plastic Silicon4All building, a seminal freeway-side homage to chrome and plastic-- and smoked glass.

CAMPUS SAFETY

• Hands up! Don't Shoot! :)
• You must attend the Gory Shooter Situation holographic "shock chamber" presentation every three months and re-take the "Nothing You Can do But Scream, Die, or Kill" quiz and Bullhorn Handler's Workshop at least once per semester during class time.  
• Shove something in front of the door, hope it doesn't open out.
• How can YOU help to scare the shit out of vulnerable young adults struggling to see their way to a sustainable future? (Self-Paced PD, 8 credit hrs)
• Look around. Who should you report as a potential shooter? (Not a workshop. Do it. Now.)
• Gun Cleaning 
• Readiness Counts: When the day we've been planning for finally arrives, it could be among the most exciting of your life!
• Take Responsibility: If your instructor seems like she wants you to throw out your chewing gum, she may be pathologically not that nice and likely eligible for a no-fault conceal-carry takedown. See your Student Handbook for details and prizes.
• Gun Sharing
• Gunplay (some restrictions apply)
• Get a Campus Gun Permit (click here to print)
• Report Yourself as a Potential Shooter (IAMAPSR)

ALUMNI: LEADING THE WAY

We were able to track down at least four persons who took at least one class, or at least requested a Course Catalog, or received one by bulk mail, for this or any satellite campus and were willing to state as much on tape in a public venue.

1. Guy in a suit standing in front of a microphone
2. Woman in traditional African costume reading a book.
3. Guy with a chicken hat and two fleyks brandishing shiny new fryer baskets.
4. Smug-looking career lady pretending to use a smart phone.

CEMENT FOUNDATION

This is how we funnel the money. Click to send money.

NEWS AND EVENTS

Ice Cream Social blah blah I know that no one will read this even though we are way over budget on fancy dinners and events for stakeholders by which we mean local rich right wingers who want to police the library for stuff that's obscene and get court-side seats as close as possible to cheerleader poontang well on second thought I think some of the secretaries over in Administrative Self-Serving might have the time and inclination to see if there's maybe a picture of themselves posted here since they sort of had to attend the ice-cream social because the foundation set it up in the only hallway that goes to the bathrooms and made a really big deal about it if you came anywhere close to the table with the cooler on it but I don't think they are big readers, really, and the college not only has a Facebook page but also a full-time-with-competitive-benefits Facebook Liaison-Technician so they would click on that to see themselves shoving their strapless bikini career apparel into the camera of one of our full-time staff photographers now housed over in the Social Media Outreach building. No, they won't read this, and I don't even know why I'm writing it except to make it seem like I'm busy here so nobody finds out they haven't given me anything specific to do since my uncle Jan had a talk with the hiring committee and landed me this great full-time Education job with competitive benefits just last week.

FIND A COURSE

We offer all the courses you need for a rewarding career! Come and engage with our team of full-time Financial Aid counselors to find out how to buy a winter coat, get a bus pass, and open a student joint-auto-draft account at the COCCKCC Credit Union. COCCKCCCU will take all the thought away from transferring your loan proceeds into your very own Account of Indebtedness ("Easy AOI") with COCCKCC. Spin the wheel! Get a free hot dog!

VISIT CAMPUS

Bring some comfortable shoes! Our beautiful campus includes a glistening lake, a grove of award-winning shag oak, ice-skating rink, auto repair shop, ceramics studio, old-timey railroad museum and gift shop... all between the door to your classroom and the parking lot.

ENGLISH DEPARTMENT

"You may still be illiterate and/or incomprehensible when you graduate, but rest assured that as a nurse, policewoman, air conditioning repair professional, dental hygiene assistant's aide, or any of the other rewarding careers supplied by our partnerships leveraging our foundation's perpetual fund drive with local labor exploitationists, you will definitely have memorized the most recent month's iteration of MPS format for in-text citations and Works Cited pages."

EMPLOYEE DIRECTORY

We realize that if you are attempting to search through our employee directory, you are most likely a disgruntled student or part-time employee trying to make a complaint, or maybe a disgruntled ex-paramour of Jan Jansdaad, the young, pretty, full-time-with-benefits Assistant II to the Executive Secretary for the VP Instructional Design/ Stupid Adjunct Support Institute (SASI) in Office 208887-G, first floor, 10-4 pm, whom you best believe is eligible to purchase a firearm if he doesn't already have one, so no. No Employee Directory for you.

Anyway, if you are trying to call your instructors, chances are we have no idea how you can get a hold of them. Most do not have phone extensions or offices on our campus, which, think about it, is a place of business, not some kind of teachers' lounge or union hall.

CLICK HERE FOR NOTHING TO HAPPEN

TRANSLATE

You believe that our translation of this page will result in an accurate facsimile of the English version.

Creo que las mejores mujeres jóvenes de mi vecindario se sentirían mucho más a gusto en Chukka Chank CC porque la verdad es que COCCKCCC es una mierda.

Circle of caring

So completely sober, or as sober as i ever am, i started this project where i auto-stim a psychedelic journey from which i can learn.

I'd been reading wacky but reasonable versions of the plant-induced variety with accompanying sides of terror and physical revulsion.

But why? All of that only goes to show that the brain is perfectly capable of doing that all on its own, and that it may actually be always doing that anyway without our ever noticing.

So I surrendered to the colors and shadow anyone might notice with their eyes closed or partially rolled back into the head, relaxing.

The trip reports had mentioned being carried along on a current that you can't stop. I thought of the swollen stream rushing past right outside my door and what it would be like to be on it.

Distracting thoughts for me, a ruminator, don't have to be chased down, and my morbid imagination is not afraid of and indeed occasionally produces scenes of carnage and destruction, as does any red blooded. So i was not afraid, but that did not happen. There was lucidity as in partial dreaming.

But then i remembered my own last experience with a bio-halucinogen: the very real sense of another presence, not a cartoon guide frog sitting on a stump, but something round that was just next to me and actually overlapping into my own head, so like my head was a Venn diagram, except both halves living and potentially aware of one another, at least i of it.

Now tho as i hung my head in frustration, wishing for the ego obliteration splinters of which were variously described as lighting, ants, fractured bisected perspectives, no instead my hand on my head became the hand of that thing. It was my left hand and the thing had been intersecting with my left brain.

The hand was familiar and maybe it was someone i knew who is dead and earlier, even before the experiment, i had been experimenting with prayer and reflecting on how it's different from talking to the dead, and whether or not talking to the dead was more dangerous than prayer. Which assumes more agency? etc.

The hand not only held my head while I wept but let me bury my face in it and felt my face as if it had not felt it for many years and wanted to remember. It's not like i never feel my own face.

Lately also i've been saying thanks to my previous self: "Thanks, past self," and really meaning it. I do something that will help out later like putting the groceries where I can find them again, and it's a pain in the ass while i am doing it but i feel like i need to say thanks to that person for going to the trouble because so often everything seems like a lot of goddamn trouble but sometimes i find the energy to do it anyway because i respect my future self that much at least or at least have the optimism to expect there to be a future self.




Dr. Donna Thong
"Doing my time on the Chang K. Chang Chank Drunk Tank Chain Gang."

Hell study

"Questions for Rev. Chama Tilly"
Hell Study
Chang K. Chang Chank Grain Bank Chain Gang Think Tank for Meta-cognitive Talk Therapy Apologetics
Dr. Donna Thong, Facilitating Surgeoness


) Have you ever felt as though you were experiencing Hell on Earth in a "real," non-figurative sense?

)) If yes, please describe the emotions, physical sensations and any other experiential items as thoroughly as possible. Avoid too much self-editing. If you are completing this questionnaire simultaneous with a Hell-on-Earth experience, please express your observations/ exclamations in the present tense. If you are not presently experiencing but are able to conjure or invoke a Hell-on-Earth event at will for the purposes of this study, please do so now.

))) If you do not believe you have ever experienced Hell on Earth in a real sense and/or do not believe that Hell can or does exist in our present Earthly reality, please imagine it at this time: what the most plausible expression of Hell on Earth would be, in as much detail as your pain centers will allow, and remember we are a non-profit cause that only wants to make it stop.

)))) If you see an issue with the concept of a Hell-on-Earth "moment," "event" or "experience," and especially if that issue is your position that Earth and Hell are one-- either for you personally or as a world view-- please fill in your understanding of the exact schematics of a Hell-Earth symbiosis, simultaneity or paradox below. Please avoid extended autobiographical illustrations of nameable phenomena/ paradigmatics.

))))) Check here if you accept the hypothesis of a literal Hell on Earth but cannot empirically verify its existence. Please indicate whether you have checked this box as the result of a religious and/or morality-based self-evaluation juxtaposed with your knowledge of others you suspect as more likely to be/ end up in and/or deserving of Hell. Further indicate the specific conclusion occasioned by any exploratory moral introspection. Which personal Hell can you infer to be the most likely outcome based on your findings: never going to happen, have been through and moved on, will/ may/ may not only occur after all medically-defined life has concluded.

)))))) True/ False: "I am most often free of Hell and Hell-on-Earth experiences/ anxiety as the result of regular and deliberate righteous thought /action as prescribed/ illustrated by familiar moral constructions/ codecs."

)))))) True/ False: "I am most often free of Hell and Hell-on-Earth experiences/ anxiety as the result of regular and deliberate righteous thought /action as proscribed/ illustrated by subjective/ personal trial and error."

))))))) What would you want to know about this researcher's approach to Hell/Earth, and why would you want to know it? Do you believe that you as Chama could cure an outbreak of literal Hell were I myself to experience it in a very real way? Is it wrong for one woman to love another woman so much that she doesn't care about Hell at all?

Donna
"I am equipped to handle a number of medical procedures on the back patio of my home."

Lesbian Stem

Oldentimey couples often chance to sit and chat over checkers at one of the Preservation Society chessboard cubicles chained to Sin-Gaberra Chank. Today Chet and Charlie can't decide which carnival or what ride was the most chilling back in the century before Chang K. Chang was even a mention on the Chama's lips.

Was it Hysteria? Tiny Gun Toter? Envious?

If I had to choose, ventures Charlie, in a pinch? It's Devil's Clit. Devil's? challenges Chet. Charlie: You betcha. Chet: Clit? Charlie: Yep. Ok, just checkin, Chuck. Charlie: Yeah, I know whatchur thinkin: 'The Devil's Clit never choked a man's speech like the coaster over at Chank Dhubbabera.' But it was the cheddar curls, not the attraction. When the commissary cooked 'em crunchy, they cheered you good.

Then they made us colonize Chang K. Chang and opened up the longest ridemall in the wurl. On the Vagina Root, you could have some hairs pulled or catch a load of someone's spittle on your chest; coming off the Lesbian Stem, everyone would be dizzy and hurl no matter what. Yeah, Vagina Root, Lesbian Stem and the curio store, Prosthetics Whore, were all perfect for a second or third date as well as kitty-corner from the bar.

Pandora was just a gaping humid cave with a fog machine, but everyone went in there to pee and avoid the perverts in the Ladies' Room. For some of their ideas, we blamed Perpetratoress, which always had the longest line, and once inside, things just went wild with lists of suggestions on what to do without getting arrested. The only way to exit the Perp tricked you onto the street as if the whole churning circus had suddenly become disgusted and attested, "Yor toxic!"

Chang K. Chang Chank Tank Chain Gang Grain Bank

On behalf of da Chang K. Chang Chank Tank Chain Gang Grain Bank, we grant you passage through R Bowel. U have bled yor Ked's in da bed for some bread and accepted a towelette, Jim. Now it's time to liven up to yor debt an swim.

Chang K. Chang Chank Tank Chain Gang Grain Bank [the MP3]

Chang K. Chang Chank Drunk Tank Chain Gang

We, busting flynt an slinging paint, are co-captured pissanteros in the Chang K. Chang Chank Drunk Tank Chain Gang. If you could help us from where you sit, sure as dark, you'd want to get us out of it. But try this on first: we are only re-animated flesh, like a jerky. Not a zombie, silly. We a system under control, and we are fresh. We can accommodate every challenge because we also have a will, thanks to PharmSupply. New-Crop Shiv is the way to go when you're feeling watery. Got something to give? Don't just mourn it. New Crop is a dead cell's opportunity to live and even eat life, with a conscience and a spunk that's engineered. We on the Chang K. Chang Chank Tank Chain Gang piss in the Trough of Our Fears and take another step with cock-suredness wrought from a thousand WD of inter-miscegenation, sodomy and flight.

Peg Thinks Hard, and Spits

This desmadre has been censored by the Mthyuh Preservation Society due to a redundancy of phrases such as open farts, devil's whoreshop, and holy skank hoar.

La Chi-Chi

Chang K. Chang Chank Jr. High is a feeder school to Chang K. Chang Chank Junior College. Only way to superseed the "junior" business is to log your first kill. Until then, you are a rookie, pup, know-nothing. The enemies you seek out, identify, target, love, and eliminate must come from among your own ranks. And it's your eager junior classmates that will drop you in a sec if they smell gay sweat. High-participation kills usually stem from gaywads that disrespect the Student Council by not showing up to bloodsac, showing up to bloodsac, removing their branks in a common area, or smoking. Ask a pissy question? You are on open-kill special all week. Hungry grads can make it far: border patrol agent, correctional officer, homeland deathsquad, cop, la pasma, lawn chair and awning resource specialist, homeland airborne deathsquad, la chi-chi, heating and air conditioning repair, or Pharmsupply bitch. Some even make it to Chang K. Chang Chank Senior High, the only institution of senior learning in the chanklands, a military academy with state-of-the-art golf course maintenance laboratory, sports bar training centre and auto shop. Failing that, stake out the Hall of Pissy Whining Complainers right after the homeland airborne deathsquad hotdogs have accidentally dropped another loveturd on some poor flake's hive or chall. These citizens can be easily picked off being so predictably on their knees forced to beg for the lives of their trapped families who must be sworn to silence even with their limbs on fire. With their patriarch wiped out, dead maimed or still-struggling wives and chilluns make warm, rich and powerful comfort vittles for K's.

Jaws of Emotion

Peggy's back arches across the saw-like top beakrails, full and fresh as a fish on a monger's forearm. Points puncture her skin at the tailbone and shoulder blades. More than gravity feels like it's calling her feet and hair to return to the world she's known till now. Cement and soil are drawing her even more strongly than her own existence has ever created sucking for most others. The strength of the Earth's pull on Peggy in this moment is only comparable to the power of the dark beacon with which she calls her own children, a burning siren of their own suffering, for they know she is gone.

In a pants suit, Peggy now suffers: suddenly swiped from her grounding in the Sears parking lot, stars smear past as if the whole planet spun. We can see a purse, shoes, keys, barrettes and shiny coins raining down hard from the jaws of her perp. Its toes are leathry and Dirty Pink against the blacktop. The claws alone are hooptie size. No one else, however, is present. No screaming crowds bear witness to this spectacular and tragic abduction. Security cameras tilt or hang dizzyingly, dead in their grips. Only the crazy orange unblinking lens of Peg's beholder confirms the scene to God. Chang K. Chang Chank Mall has been shut down for weeks.

Limping K's Rock a Death Zoo

Pete Dikker, Chankside

Discovered late last night in Chang K. Chang, hundreds of K's in various states of consciousness literally drag claw in circles round a towering black shivbox. None of these med captives can fly, completely gimp even with their equipment set to Strong. I spoke with a scrawny, filthy boy as he attempted to tunnel out from under the fence with a guano sack through which only the faintest throbbing purple glow could be detected.

PETE DIKKER: Boy what's the point gathering their slry when they are so sick.
RUSTIC BOY: Not... sick... old... Pegyuh want the 12-year or nothin. All else... is rotgut.
PETE DIKKER: And when they expire for good. What then, sherlock?
RUSTIC BOY: They flesh is a mummify, and work better with remote.
PETE DIKKER: As tar-like raindrops crackle and splatter all around us and your tunnel begins to cave, what existential feelings are welling up in you now?
RUSTIC BOY: K's rock my emotion sickness... I live to feed the milk goddess so you can suck laif to yor generations... and find answers for mizzry'n strahf.
PETE DIKKER: If you could ask the camera any question about our world, now is the time.
RUSTIC BOY: First... does it merely hide chaos behind a facade of complexity? ...And if there is nothing around it... why isn't everything right next to it?

Apologia for a superstitious lifestyle, or true quest for the Pegyuh's favorite bar mixer? Private guano plant for a queen, or sadistic joke on a species for whom religion comes from a gene? While getting shot with flaming arrows by flakes and just before suffocating in liquid coal, RUSTIC BOY looked me in the eye and screamed. "Dey keep fline even wen dey ded! Soon deyl awbee macheenz! Wair can we go wen th'Mthyuh doned get fed? We Dai, We Daaaa...iii!"

The Air is Thick with Snowflakes, but You are No Differnt

Nothing like a stroll out looking for a cab in Chang K. Chang Chank around 3am on a January's eve. This cold foam is in your genes, Chang K. Chang. You left us haughty even in death, mystery flake. Tornado of Blanque: pick up the check for once. You been weighed and found wanting a dinger for your bell. Yet we named our thickest chank with thoughts of you.

Water u gonna do nex, Goddess of Propriety?

Horrible Violent Shithole

"Chang K. Chang Chank Jr. High is a horrible, violent shithole," by Hoolie

Butt come to find
it's really towers
of shit. And oh so
brutal! I longed f
-or the world of a
-dults to rescue m
-e in its shady ar-
m. Meanwall, chi-
cks in white lipst-
ick scratched and
kicked and verba
-lly assaulted and
exposed themself
indecently to me.

Naughty Somalians

When the hooded one arrives on his apple cart, steps down with a naked scythe?
When sudden death occurs there is a strong initial shock, and then healing begins. A major illness will extend the period of strong exposure and be more likely to create permanent collateral damage. Beyond length of exposure, intensity can fluctuate and climb, stressing out a worshiper's innermost marrow.

Are there any interactions or serious side effects?
Illnesses that provoke secondary expressions of violence, scatology or other dementia deepen the horror, widen the suck of the spinning drain of death. When multiple careers of morbidity overlap, especially in a close social network, death can stomp up and down, a sticking period key, a repeating decimal of dead.

Why do they keep them so long, and wouldn't it be more merciful to kill them immediately?
Well, the fact is that if push came to shove and we'd have to admit it, we kinda like having them around for as long as we can. It's like sitting on yr balls. We grow accustomed to their valiant little defiances; their quirky pronouncements and curses; their cute, spirited jabs from the sidelines. We know how under-it-all dependent they really are on our goodwill, and that makes us fuzzy.

What is your view on the abolition of Blood Sac?
It seems to keep people calm, especially the young mothers for some reason. Nobody needs to say a word, as long as we know it's happening and we can go to see for ourselves whenever we want. In fact, I hear they've been poorly attended of late. Sure, the opposition pretty much gave up after they couldn't get a retraction on the Sac they did on that what was her oh Chang K. Chang. That was because she was such a beloved living maiden that for her to "only milk Mthyuh in hell always" indicated selfishness on the part of the Preservation Society and maybe even envy slippin out some of the high preistesses while we know that's just potty. It's a controversy of the past, certainly. Today's worshiper is just bored with it. It may eventually be won by the inane above humane, as they say. It's all about cultural stewardship for me, and that's what I've shown you crossing over. I say get in my boat and I'll take you there and now here we are. Now there's someone can bring you on to the next big bend.

Tom
CEO, Pharmsupply
A Year to Another Year

New Economy

Hoolie and Kype worked at the plant, plus a lot of overtime. They were more hours of the day than not covered with a fine grey powder of cemen-T, a byproduct of any pharmaceutical mining, processing, or packaging in those times. Kype gave Hoolie a lot of good advice. One time he told him to go and brush his teeth in the drinking fountain. Another time Kype told Hoolie to stop wearing underwear and also stop shaking his dick after he went to the kibo-flimp. Finally, he suggested that Hoolie take LSD, wear tight bellbottoms and shake his ass really hard main floor throughout a Foghat concert.

At break time they'd stop over at the White Hen Pantry for some food chunks or tobacco. They'd break nuts on the big stone for customers behind the ATM or walk back reminiscing about young life crawling through the chanks. Never knew what the next village was doing, especially during clusters. Chang K. Chang Chank was the "fordamall" chank (40 miles long).

They got the idea for the show from a Discover Channel doc-uality about the reanimation of flesh that was already or still animate. It turned out to be easier than to animate dead flesh.

So before long they were entertainment industry execs, and with their laptops they would force contestants to swing each other by the hair and throw one and the other against walls, etc. These folks were volunteers, and they were hard up, but it was painful for them, and it showed on their faces. Emotionally. We couldn't give them ValveBox because the muscles were not responsive beyond 5 steps of glee. So what most people watched as the show evolved was the tortured expressions in the players' countenances. One episode had both participants dressed as Joan Crawford. They seemed to be utterly humiliated and were almost killed. They wept as they were carried out, mascara smearing. They were also called contractees, associates, partners, members, guests, collaborators, stars, models, frontliners, foot soldiers, salt and pepper, caca, ganado, joiners.

Kype had a beak head and deep-blue feathers. He could lay his spectacles flat across his eyes, which had to look down to see straight ahead. He let a beat strike, and then turned his toucan-like nose toward his friend and mentee.

Hoolie. What's happening to us.

Cavern in the Back

"Hoolie's problem always was that he was misunderstood by classmates at the junior high. They'd be like, 'Who's that kid?' and Hoolie'd be the kid who is dancing over in a corner all by himself, or maybe even in the middle of the dance floor, all by himself, but really spazzing out. Like totally oblivious. He comes to a dance, he doesn't realize that it is a social event as much as anything. Sure, you come to move, to interpret in a way, to appreciate the music; but that is generally considered to be only a template, platform, subterfuge even, for grafting rites. Hoolie wasn't about that. He really got into whatever he was doing.

Also I heard a girl tell him once, 'I don't dance with white boys.' So."

Shrugs eccentric cafeteria manager Soupy Witness at St. Chang K. Chang Chank Elementary, former kindergarten of a sullen and embattled go-go nightclub dancer Hoolie Johnson, arraigned this morning at High Shiv for manslaughter in the death of Connie Rehenes, debutante and drifter. Johnson often claims to have been a son of the High Priestess Pegyuh through some sort of goofy-talk "wrinkle-in-time" coincidence. A Wrinkle in Time is the book that will be written in the 1960's especially for children and adolescents by Madeleine L'Engle, renowned mostly for that title. Upon learning that it would be hundreds of years before the technology could be developed that would at once vindicate him on a murder rap and prove his lineage to a priestess, he began diagnosing hidden illnesses, some of which they didn't know they had, in the members of a Canadian camera crew on the scene. We are standing by to determine the outcome of the epsom salt baths and prayer he prescribed for each of them in varying doses before slipping into a shit-faced trance.
Coolie Sinbad, Chankside.