Does can Peggy speak to men

Jans are most afraid of a face that's vacant a face that to its owner is a forgotten asset

Those Ks that on approach can project at least a happy or upside-down happy face

Will be granted the highest honors for their sacrificial hunger and self-hygiene practices

Beast: if your face is vacant and you choose to approach these towns, bear down your lip

Focus targets early and carry on with a plan always asking can i get enough to make it worth

If not this then in 10,000 generations you will get a whiff and cometh again sniffing around

Maybe you'll find a house in Jansdaadbad with a broken roof whip up some high winds

Make it look like another crazy nature fluke tornado carries off nursery rhyme gone bad

Toddler reads to self as father disappears through damage never to return in living plaid

This is only one way to gather your men who make the strongest nests with their bones

If not never then in 100,000 generations you'll just as soon have cast aside such pursuits

After 99,999 but enter then a glade of freshened expectations and gentler recreations

We must first of all as a group establish ourselves among this world and Crack-wide

More than the horrific stinkers of lore and indeed a think tank of keratinized epidermis

Ks take glory in the fullness of fulfilling up to but no more than our allotted kill

Attributed to La Pegyuh

"Ks Fly Spread Eagle" [frag.]

Thousand Moons Festival Call to Prayer 
Thousand Moons Village, Fridgeporcherator Chank

Phyllis [trans.]

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.

Uranus

OMG isn't anyone allowed to have a personality anymore? Not allowed in the workplace unless you are a vocal-frying, nasal talking, Lexapro-taking cyber-prosthetic clone of some fat, de-gendered hipster? Where are the bigger-than-life smokers and drinkers of the Earth's last earnest millennium?

The only reason some men pull back at all on their missions to inseminate is that they can't keep moving the penis forward ad infinitum, and despite the design of the organ, there's no more pleasure in retreat than in breaking a perfectly good line, a straight-on ray, into pathetically iterative fragments.


by Peg

Potential redactor

Illyn sprouts up through gravel once again sharp and tender. He barely lives behind some boulders healing the shreds, tearing of salvation, reeves upon scars upon previous birthmarks tho he's all the same incarnation. He keeps having to be reborn at the age he left off at, but uglier.

Soon Illyn's scaled the fake adobe privacy wall of a spa resort and coaxed away a guest's evening clothes, left the gentleman puzzled and trembling in waves of nile linen. Soon Illyn's grinding gears, engaging wipers, igniting lamps of a wood-paneled wagon unstable of wheel up flashing commerce canyons, maybe blurry Monte Carlo, Florida or a roadside tourist trap outside Phoenix, Greece: goats balancing on pyramids for coins among garden torches.

He's going to try it this time around as an effeminate storefront preacher by the name of Lawrence Avenue. By now his jaws activate a birdish cartilage elbow way above the temple either side the head when they speak, so flakes will remember this Illyn as pelican with celtic afro and turtleneck shirt, who Got named him Lawrence Avenue because it made the pavement he got born and saved and ran away on. All that before he went and stayed and preached and was that street.

Soon he is trucking out the Upchank elevated station with the vent flaps in the sport jacket bouncing as if on a pair of hams, but has to stop cold. Blasting toward him, a swelling vision: brown-beard-flying Eiremann in some kind of poncho and like a cross-country passing spike, mightily-handled butcher's clave, in his fist. Illyn reaches deep to find his grim-handy response to each life threat, the dickish fact of his own invincibility. Still it's not surprising how the weapon bearer bounds on by, the fugitive of an even greater terror.

Rounding a corner, she is progressing down to just the classic bra, and very sweaty whipping off and out of a long-sleeve denim career issue of a meat factory and winding it about her boning hand. She is out to disarm a man she knows from the tank. As in spontaneous passion play for king or inquisitor, the pair decide to stop there in the middle of the lane, as if Lawrence Avenue was a stage, and as if there were a way that Lawrence Avenue, their potential redactor, should behave. He stands there like a big-adam's-apple cartoon freak. The brawler worker and her would've been attacker have to pause, concede that Lawrence Ave is weak. Not an action, but a stepping stone to Peace.

ICE CLAW

ICE CLAW was spotted having replaced the sun like a crystal bear jumping up and over the tooth-full mountain peaks that keep our valley in a hoary shadow...

ICE CLAW seems to have ripped open the stone floor of our habitat.

ICE CLAW cannot be trailed anywhere because he's so giant that he's always pretty much right there.

ICE CLAW's hand is often stuck at the center of lurid posters.

ICE CLAW is not a way to get ice but rather one of ice who gets.

Phyllis, embedded (coming up for air)
"Dial your emergency number now."

palm springs trick room II

Carrot on a prong

They left me naked on a stainless slab for like two hours. I was so cold I couldn't move or shout. It was a paradox that up until then I'd been experiencing a sucking gravity that wanted my life with it in the center of our planet. Was it so wrong that on an autopsy table, instead, you feel that the main stage is right there; if you are still alive on a surface of those properties, associations you are doubly present before a strong frizz of imminence that can beckon like a carrot on a prong.

Because I'd slipped into the trance of a dormuñeca, Ted reelie freaked. Because my axial staves had curled stubbornly around the mattress springs, he additionally found it hard to lift me in his arms but as always, championed. I'd trusted him because he was married to Peg. Maybe past domestic horror on the man side could be right cosmetic for the new girl. Also he knew to the last sprig of hay how it felt to minister rooster like to a bird wife, la monarca d'ensalago. At least I could show him tenderer buds of an ugly to come. 

But now he would let me be dead and move on to a new life. Maybe to him it's all the same when She Wakes up Alarmingly Knowing, Enlightened as the Sun. That means it's someone else, next head to pop up in a window. Telejournalism had forged him some terrible paradigms. Off camera presented a writhe pit of humanish complexities. Or he just wasn't thinking right, or the decay fomented by the acid rain of the industry had allowed to protrude a sickly primeval crimp, toad, appendix, fail, trip. The ages bade me forgive him it.

Connie

"I've helped Phyllis become more accepting of her body's changes."

"A scorpion knows that a human is never more fully on the go than when she is simultaneously screaming and slamming with her shoe a creature who seems to want her harm." 

Gau Gau Bata Utha

 Gau Bata Utha

Come out your towns, where you camping!
Beat the face of your land, come out grrlz.
Got an eyebrow pencil or a crayon, bring it on out.
If your instrument plays, don't be ashamed.
You know your tool is welcome baby, come out!
If you are not packing, you can come out and SING!

Translation by Sylvia

Men's gene

We always believed in the true horrors uncovered of popular feminism, a product of a guilded horror age. While it was so easy to remember what had just happened, not really knowing what to say, it was also easy to remember sunshine and chintz, keeping movement frontal, forward and advanced. But when you see horror over there, you take a second start when you look anew around you. Humans aren't who we thought they were, or whom we made them out to be. Not least of all men. Disappointing. But most of all women: worth celebrating, mourning. But then you get a pendulum. Pig/ saint. Wench/ king. Magician/ witch. Biology itself has been a perpetrator, but all to men's credit as conscientious super-mammal. Created poorly for the modern world, he resorts to a hamster wheel. A hamster cranks out worlds of it's own dark little oblong worldz. In a flashbulb, all tyranny was rotten, harsh. Even eager embra co-dependers were seen as vortice-eyed followers of the missile-phallus. It was Men's gene. Fems had to prove that they had it too.

By Phyllis
Freelance Free-Weekly Filler Filer 4U

Irretractable Post-Feminist Crisis

Total conversion or shutdown.
Shivica ficha 1: Chamatilly, frmrly "Reptily".
Comments: Girl's gone too far. Recommend full brain return, winged flight, excretory updates.

Amicus posts: 3

ap1: Chama is the Honey of Life. Our community would suffer her absence more than the brief monthly assaults. Our K response team is empathic and humanish.
Supervisor, All-Chank
Cement Employees Collective

ap2: Oh, Chamalachamalamachama. Chalamachamamama. We wail in anticipation of your claws.
Ultimate Worship Group
Sports n' Sex Crimes Bugle, Sponsor

ap3: She might as well let it all hang out. She is enduring an irretractable post-feminist crisis. I have submitted a volunteer card for embedded feed monitoring and preliminary intimate grooming license. She will recognize me as a specialist and view historic spatting as too easy for vengeance. She'll eat me last.
Phyllis

Spin, Vajra, Spin

Maybe it's my hairdo that makes your bun fall to the side when you think of me, mom. For she is I that laid your egg, not you a Peg, and members of my retinue must twist the dhammilla so low and tight.

Mechanical creatures and slime can rest in my weightless curls with room for your life and forty more. I love you that much to communicate my post-feminist claims so you may rest in my jatamandala while I shriek in carnal crime and despair.

My terrible living makes me pigeon, street girl to stars, but to compare, you are just a tiny ovum saved by chance on my vajra tip. You suffer sharply. But I am there. When you hear the cloying screech of a suparna, you feel me.

Your Peggy, Our Pegyuh

Hystadelic Rejoinder

Sylvia: I don't want to put away dishes with you while you're in your underwear.

Tom (turning toward her in grey boxer-briefs with a sauce pan in one hand and a rat's tail shivknife sharpener in the other): I want to open up some opportunities for you. To talk about what you saw. I know I was all wrapped up in my time experiment, and nothing registered. Not time. Not even horror.

Sylvia: Time lies, you know. It's a liar. Put on some baggy pants and we'll talk.

While waiting, Sylvia stands absentmindedly pressing what seems like her taint against the back of a faux-Rococo dining room chair. It boasts a darkly varnished hardwood patina, and it's downright cocky about its Shorn Crushed Red borganna brusquely shielding all the parts on which one might normally leave prints. Bare-flesh contact with wood, tile, lead causes Sylvia to auto-hypnotize and occasionally seizure. Even through knits, that kind of pressure triggers a not unpleasant hystadelic rejoinder.

Since that first week when Tom began trying to explain his "announcement" about his "Pax on Us" goddess coming to save the middle chanks, it had been over. Now crime was their bond. Tom's agreement with Collie was so strong, the power of his surrender so profound, that they could only dance with the beckoning animal that kept them stepping on. Tom singlemindedly distribute shivplate, stone compasses, Hopinaskipina for his corporment sponsors until his ears bled for lack of Filter of Loathing. Everything was dephallocentri-size now.

Tom: I'm back.

Sylvia (opening her eyes): Oh.

Tom: Are you calm? Why don't you sit on that for a moment.

Sylvia (lowering slowly, bracing herself on the borgana armpads): It was a bird.... It was obscene. You never believed me; no one did, and I lost my job. Now our whole county can't leave, and our essential compositions have shifted dramatically from gaseous to chemical.

[FLASHBACK: Going over the conversation in his mind, Tom recalls a strobe light of important snippets, a bucket of chicken, Patron shots. He squints, and spits. All he can see is her lips talking. What he hears makes him want to make her stop.]

"...one wing, but like a cape. You could say pleathery. White veins...

"...I thought I saw it again last week, but high up. It looked like a letter K. Going backwards. Flying with its legs spread eagle.

"Are you listening, Tom?"

I'd Like to Hold You Once

Apparently, women really
want to have sex.

But you and I, no
one will suspect.

Let them strut their
glossy trappings

While we steal a
caress and longing.

Brash fruits drop, ho-
llow in our ear;

We mutually suckle
underground.

Would that my
branches could

Find you in air, in-
hibit yor career.


I'm y' baseline, baby!
Kev

Connie Soda

No one remembers me, I am a sister.
Sometimes they call me Commie Splices.
Bearded Lady, Zygote Birther, Goddess of Propriety,
Muff of Fur, Topless Coal Walker, Native-American Squaw,
Mucky Muck, Two Decades of Feminism: Dual Tank Treads;
Food Covetor, Wisdom Mist, Virgin, A Sentence Said [A.S.S.].

• I could have made my way up. There have been investigations.
• I got left aside, maybe the story strangled me in its turns.
• I have a weight as a One Crossed Over, but even the boatman trumps.
• I have no control over the situation beyond the sweater I was wearing.
• Ted found me dead weight or weightless on a very good mattress.
• My first husband was a scoundrel like all Southern men.

Father bleated on preaching of coin-slot plotters and drones,
They impeached him in the middle of a Period that was Misunderstood.
Show respect for the drifting cadres, growing, of Robed Men sifting in
from the forests and deserts and Fallowed Lands.
If you see a One called Ilyn, with a Red Afro, tell'im I'm his chillun.
Somewhere along the road, I could be Born Again like an albino I know.

Song of Dr. Donna Thong

Generations fall from the bone;
We can't rely on memories.
The trip is ours to take alone;
Stepping into infinity.

These are my drums-- see how they bang;
And maracas, oh they shake me.
I turn opposite spinning Earth;
You and me, we can make it stop.

Generations fall from the bone;
We can't rely on memories.
The trip is ours to take alone,
Overcoming sublimity.

I am a tuba in your ear!
I am woman, her breath so strong.
My legs are shaven and tale long.
From your perspective, I am queer.

Generations fall from the bone;
We can't rely on memories.
The trip is ours to take alone;
Stepping into infinity.

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.

Doctorate of Cement

It oozes everywhere in these parts. Dr. of Cement Thong stands over there in plaid with her stomach out, an obvious department chair, fat cigar stub in her mouth. She's got some kind of racing tickets for a charity for victims of racing. She's all, "We'll take you: your bitch against my bitch." Then she sit back pickin hard spots offer pants while the grrlz go at it. Like a slingshot snapping, she'd thrown over her natural loving care for men to a feminist battleground mentality, bombs literally bursting overhead. In the meantime, cement moved but moved glacially imperceptibly through the valley, God's vicious cycle.

"There is always more, yet only one of each of us, and we are being ground chilluns all up in it." Hoolie

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.

Burnt Issue

Studies show that patriarchy was invented by women in order to give their husbands something to do peace time and to stay on track even while out plundering. Sure, mono-theism asks you to choose a parent. But which one is it? The Mthyuh while fathyuh lead a crusade? Is busy passing you thru her living tissue, chall. Yor rostrum is forged in her loin and you are her tanline. She is the hive plugger while males drone. Another commandment written on the human soul, however: that one sex is not enough. Any one gender will get cruel heady. So their worship must be binary to reap of it a nirvanic system. But since they suffer, one set of genitals in your face always. They reject a parent out of fear for security. Toss the soprano; keep the pit bull. He can't sing anyway, and she's a total bitch to those who might threaten our famly. Mthyuh: piquant going in and picaresque coming out.

MO-TOWN UBER ALLES

Ted'd followed some man who'd already ditched him to a communist rally in the dead of 1980 winter Detroit. Jammed in a boxy downtown gymnasium, he watched a hairy gal on a platform rant and rave until he felt he needed a drink. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOUR CREDENTIALS?" he screamed.

The speaker, stunned, actually answered. "Why, I am JoAnne Studebaker and I am the Director General of the WSBI GMC [Greater Motor City]. It was clear they were all under three feet of snow, it was crowded and warm, no one was getting out until the thing was at an end, and even then at risk of trampling or fros-titty. During the blizzardy 8-hour trans-industrial tour from Mai-Kaina in an unheated car, Peggy found she could break off a hunk of her freshly shampooed hair like a fibrous herbal popsicle.

Later that night in a Group Apartment full of filing cabinets and armoirs, one or two Workers or Students with a blanket, a Mexican poncho or a polyester sleeping bag were situated roughly parallel, every few feet, as in a slave ship or graveyard. There was no smell of marijuana or drink, just lesbian tea.

Ted always felt they had been sent by someone, possibly Comrade Studebaker herself. They came and settled next to him easily after everyone had quieted down and the lights had been dimmed, as before a naked photo-op. He'd been granted a wide perimeter.

He felt their thudding behind him on the bare wood floor through the nylon that wrapped his clothes that sheathed his body, and there were sickly goosebumps on his back. They seemed to be slithering in and out of one another's sack. Then there were wet clicking and smacking noises, strange aggressive giggling.

The proverbial Sventlana and Judith had really shown him who was in charge of that political landscape. All the guests at the crash pad were polite and hushed. It occurred to Ted that these maybe were just spoiled ivy league kids with a denim and bandana fetish.

Peggy and he her own twin brother had still never met. Even in the womb they had been a hot throbbing membrane apart, jus' two pieces o' pie from the same automat, ass to ass.

Where was she nau? Where was she when he needed her not only to be but to be there and not only to be there but to be a woman?