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.

Break the Law and Die

Drink grog, gorge all winter, go sleepy.
Then somebody when they go to pee
spot a meat spirit silhouette top a hill.
Tribe, there are meat spirits moving.
I'll make coffee. Slowly to get up, but
then with throbbing imploring, break-
fast is all about calorie packing into th
-e body so you can run, hunt weep la-
ughing. Force Nature to your will, Na-
ture. Emotions held us drugged hosta-
ge of emotions for survival in a cave. P
-harmSupply and each one of your cu-
stieServ agents would like to inform y-
ou that we are your Natural Chemical
Brain Regulator. Just as Braino hisself,
in partnership with nature, used to, w-
e now hold the golden key to your slee
-p patterns and thought affect. Would
you suggest we give it back to Bigfoot?

Horror of Peggy

im really sinking
im really sinking in spirit sitting here.
im really sinking in despair, all-knowing yet
not knowing if you are there. We all used to meet up
for a Coconut Rush at Sears after school and then freak-
ishly, you grew up, but not before i flew the coop.

ante-capture, with thumb-like flippers, the spinal cord was my tail,
and i had to whip it 'round a lot to get through water,
so that's why i like saying "no" emphatic'ly shaking my head:
it reminds me of being free. If I busted through my skull, a lengthie ten-
dril would come out along behind me. That's how you'll know I was successful.

Mom

You Pray

She got a gold-hoop earring big as her coffee-can curlers, awbe rocking wal she make somebody dead.

Chamatilly lay down on her feathers an brooding about the life of a forced priestess an how empty.

She imagine back 1000 WD to Reptily. Prolly robbn and theivn. Stop to chat.

You still there in my heyud? You know now I laik to die but am Mos Beloved Woma instead. They preparing me for a remote control where after I go my body and soul will operate forever, an even betr. Whut would you do if you were me nau Reppie. Jump in the Mthyuh is not a option because that's feed the Shiv and the shiv is the medsin make erybody twitchie. They could jus clip awdats hangin onda mens an a red shiv onda hormonz of da bitches but they wanna controe awda flow of that shit an how an whenit cum an go."

Reptily right then cut a man troat in the street, straddle him on the little-stone pavement, hold him at the collar, jus about ready to drop him and check for coins when she hear Chama cutting in. Reptily hear through holes in the sides of her heyud. She got a big gold hoop earring that be rocking wal she make somebody dead. Nau pausing in the pool of a street light, she look up proudly, speaking to a dark filthy cave hole where in the futr could be her later sef. Imagine she say:

"Nau Chama, you seem all holy an really clean an yor bress be poppn. They give you a steam shower in the Purl Falls and show you pruisnear all the tention any grl can get at da oracle an you prolly takn care of Moms in a high chank with furs and meats. You sad nau; you thinkn volca will be so painfol. Onee one thing you can do woma an that is pray, get down, get down and pray. Get down Chama. Get down, get down..."

Chamatilly interrupt Reptily rustic song from the firs WD:

"You pray, Mthyahphka. You phkn pray. You get down and pray."

One thing Chama know now is awda captivity an torcher an brainwashing also have some character building effek like if you survive, religion seem like booshia.

Reptily, back in oltimey land clutch a bluddie collar, make a ded man hed bob backward laik his neck is talkn wal she check his pockets:

"Get down, you got to get down, get down, you got to get down..."

Nau she laf'n walk away an you can see her spines down the neck and back, flip a liberty coin in the air an catch it.

"Bastards and your easy wages. I take your future!"

Kidnapped by Pharmsupply

"Life often seems hard, but you have a range of emotions."
[Here they smack Hoolie hard with a mace upside the head. The mace is made of a stick, some rope, and a punching bag what they hit you with, even though a punching bag usually get hit. That irony is what should eventually egg you to break.]
"Can you really say yor worse off than someone less advantaged."
[Smack.]
"You know when we had yor mother sitting in this chair she peed herself...
Can we count on you to make everything right?"
[smack]
"Whut?"
[Smack]

The legend say Ted and Sylvia came a bailout the Pegyuh while she carry the Hoolima zygote and slip her something in a red box.

Hoolie wonder who now gonna come for me.

He could take an attitude "I do time hard time in life; captivity is a spiritual journey where I'm free."
He could try and get his heart around: "You can cause me pain, but will not change my backward generations. My progenitora, a lesbian, needs my screams to bring me to her once more."

Sadly, Dr. Thong was tied up and stifled in the shadows, tears of regret in steaming flow behind her brank. Pharmsupply had tricked Hoolie there by forcing Donna, his co-dependent, to call him up for a check-in.

Donna Thong begins rocking her chair to the tempo of the Disco Years. She knows that Hoolie can receive the sound and be with her in a place, on an evening. The music and colors had begun for the first time at her practice as she unbuttoned his shirt for a totally routine examination of the abs. She had onee ever seen those shimmering metallic tones of purple and blue, apart from Sears, on one squawking, swooping, fitty-pown mess of pre-historic, chank-layin, chall-attackin poulet: the now-extinct monarca d'ensalago.

"Just take me out," he had begged. "Put me down."

When they woke up later under the table in a sea of mini-bar bottles and PaxPox wrappers, they knew that God's whole sick cycle had begun.

Peggy Heard disinda Prizun Red Crescent Ward

They's all med wards. You in a ward you on meds. You a nurse you on meds. You a live you even dead you on meds. They checkin my pulse and my powers, all strapped down in a bed. The guns in green come in they say Correctional Officers, as in Correct-Ol, the laxative. They four hours sayin: mmm Jimenez waintcha geddus a peetsa. Mmm I cd go frwun. He say he a magician. It aint comin out. We hada pikim up frm Contraband Watch, no he wuzzina cell. Non-responsive. They say if he gonna lee-of, they gotta giv him da opa-shiv. Da only one ken lift da opa. Doc comes in an sez "iss unfortunate dahling but I've got to save you. It's my damn job." This man is a spoilt, the prisoner who ate contra-shiv and has to get it out in a bucket with guards and docs and clerks on overtime. Day say one broke all up inim. An if is condums, iz ownlee a manner of tam. They standing four hours waiting, I am in normal torture they have me now in a rack. other side o the curtain they saying what about the cubs. whut about da mets. fuck them they waiting for that bitch to shit out her cocaine? tax payer dolla make huh lisp an ask for a tube down her throat cuz she don't like da frooty tase of da lixuid aquative. Hunerd thousan dolla fora nurse an some bitches to surroun dis sociopat wit tits an ass an kindrids? It jus be gonna shoodout day say. It'll shoodout. An we'll have to cleenit. Iaint cleeninit. But itl b evi-dence. Shia, I ain cleeninit.

Peggy: Notes on an Encarn-ceration

I stick around only out of spite for the world. It's done pushed me back, forth, and around all these years. It's prodded me out onto a limb just to watch me dance off a precipice; fool that I am, proud flaming nar-sistuhs. It's told me to take a hike or soak my head a while-- it didn't care. It led me to believe, and then to doubt-- doubting, hating, exploiting, contemptifying; I learned them all from you, indifferent planet!

Now I must be your surrogate to the masses. Each of my hands hypnotizes while cupping a fresh shape o' misery. All of the symbols dipping and changing course all at once compel in a fashion dance, writhing. Heads bob with the undulations of my arms as eyes follow one, then the other, and another, and another, and so on like musical notes striking a bar. My devotees writhe because they watch and dance because they see all of their miseries safely cradled each in a different one of my palms. They cannot take away their eyes.

Notes: a) when I run into them later on, they seem resentful; and b) just because someone is in jail doesn't mean they can't run into folks.

Time is a Liar

Tom thought he might have mono [nucleosis]. His emotions seemed to have escaped from his nervous system/soul/whatever into the physical organ. "Everyone's trapped in a capsule," he theorized. It's comforting when you think the odds are against you. To remember that we are all the unhatched eggs of Mthyuh. Everyone has to see out their eyes and hear with their ears and digest their own food. Everyone has to dread getting in the shower some days because you don't know what you'll see next.

Chamatily meets Pegyuh

They are like the divas of the shattered and mutated world of Pariah. They are virgin and whore, whore and virgin, whorgin, vore, vore-whorgin, and whorgin-vore.

Chamatily could be a hundred years or more older than the Pegyuh. But Peggyists might say that Pegyuh is the superior being because she developed into the fullfillment of a prophecy rather than something that caught on in a flash and rode a wave of popularity straight into a life of crippling bindings and harsh ceremonial confinement. She knew it would be better than jail or coach.

Pegyuh explained to the Tilly,

"Being raised up in a temple, you learn there are basically two kinds of people. One kind is a holy but poor kind, needing your help. And the other kind is you."

"Or rather, you," Chama gently corrected.

"Yes, me," confirmed Peggy, smiling like a cosmetologist.

"I was taught that I had and I was something, someone very special because I had something very special, and I had something very special to give. Therefore, when I went out with my specialness and people found it, found me special, I thought it should be because of something special inside me, the special part of my being that is at my center. Instead, what they found was special about me most, the specialness that meant most to them was my tits."

"I am always topless, and my public accepts me so."

"Pardon me, but isn't that because women of dark African descent always appear to be dressed, even as they are nude?"

"Darling, no. That's not it. We are so often naked, yet we are so seldom shocking or obscene."

"You are a beautiful woman and a very special individual."

"you are the mother of all races. your milk is the milk of mthyuh and feeds all our faces. all the maidens and all the virgins milk and suckle on your multiple nipples, giving rise to all peoples. your spout of all..."

"Pardon me once more, Reptily," cautioned Peg, feather light.

"Eat me now Mthyuh, for I have disappointed your milk daughter, milk of her... Oh! You call me my born name from da first WD."

"I have and have always had, always forever will have only two nipples. You need to get that right."

"No, mama. You need to catch a hint from one who has jacked the train of public approval and rode it on in to the temple true da back dough. Now I'm all up in here witchu, and I need to say, 'You really otter be necket.' No one will question you then. No one gets in the pantheon without da bust."

"But I guess you must know. I am a lesbian."

"And I'm really a guy! Does it matter now? For the group photo we'll be facing one another and turning just our heads toward the shivhole, so it'll be your left one and my right, or vice- versa, whichever one is better on each of us-- hopefully they'll oppose."

Stays Lifted

There are those that will their steps on your dreams;
a single drop swells the chalice, and you wake moaning.
Call into the fray with care-laden bells clinking,
buoy rocking, buoy clanging; sun is winking.

Peggy, You are our Daughter

Peggy,

You are our daughter. We've been wanting to tell you for so long. We are your birth parents and we love you. We want to help you with the girls and be their grandparents.

Down the entire contents of this box NOW!

Ted
syl

P.S. We are in the parking lot.

Tom and Sylvia make contact.

Then they did the torture where they spin you around very fast in an office chair-like contraption, then stop you suddenly and spin you even faster the other way. How can I be so important? she murmured, bloody spittle strung across her cheeks and hair. Then she realized: she wasn't that important at all. The torture was completely automated. This was sort of like a car wash whereas before it would have taken an entire team of ensemble actors. Soon it would spit her out on a lawn behind a post office or a school. Not soon enough... she was going to faint... not soon...

What? What was that? A tiny package, a vial... by her foot. She thought she had hallucinated it, but no. It had come rolling across the floor and under--into--mother's shoe. No-Shiv. The red box.

Tom and Sylvia stood holding one another in the parking lot.

Tough Peggy

Mum's pleated wool skirt was soft and absorbent. Her thighs were not so bony as to be scary or uncomfortable against the cheek, and not so big as to be mottled or odorous. Her knees were a wholesome cushion of responsive and supporting tension, a blood-water-fat balance that seemed custom made for Peggy's face. She cried and cried.

If you could step back from that scene, you would see the projector above the door behind Peggy and that her mother's image was a hologram.

In Search of a Paradigm

If they were all the same price, what did it matter?

Tom and Sylvia sat in the waiting room at Pharm-Supply browsing through old catalogues. Way beyond lipsticks, the most curious pages were the symptom and scripting breakdowns for the shivtropics. Their real reason was to see about breaking Peggy out or smuggling a box of No-Shiv in to her.

CLXXIV. Blyway
Neurodigm. You have many interests which you focus on intensely. You are never happy because you are never satisfied with what you are focused on or else why would you be so focused on it. And why focus on anything anyway. In the big picture, you are a rat sniffing from flower to flower for no reason. Are you a victim of neurodigm?

XXVIII. Same-E
Hopinaskipina. Everything seems fine until all the sudden you have to break your healthy rthyum and engage in uncharacteristic behavior. Consequences include loss of productivity and increased stress factor for coworshippers. Signs of disease-specific denial: "had to let my hair down," "just needed to get away," "fuck you; get out of my face." Ask your shiv priest about your doctor. Then, stop your hopinaskipina.

CC. Rock o' Mthyuh
Blight. Something in the air. You're not the only one who's being affected. But not everyone has the nut to do something about it. You stay right in the head because you owe it to your family, for the safety of whom you are like a lioness. You take your Pro-Labique Pharmashiv whenever and wherever you need it: for protection, for peace of mind. You are not a sick one trying to get well; you are a potentially deadly protector of children. Keep taking Pro-Labique. Don't let them down ever again. If you do, do you really deserve to live?

W.A.S.T.E.

Kug was busy trying to beat himself into a slumber chemically. He had full pharmashiv, so he was well stocked. What he really wanted was to just talk to someone, but he'd have to sign a Waiver and Acceptance of Social Toxicity Estimate to get the vouchers, and it just wasn't worth it. But when would they all be able to relax. There was always something coming at them. The funny stuff, then some spooked attention, and then the dereliction.

Three beautiful dogs lounged all around him. One was fluffy and soft, with a crazy look in her eyes and a very high pain threshold. Another was gingery, spotted, danced for chicken. Finally, Juniper was just naughty. Half of one eye was blue, the other a quicksand of sentiment. La La's toe had been taken by a gopher, yet she hadn't flinched. M'Lady's passion was birding, and they sometimes called her Dog Bird or Pickles.

He hid his watch in a drawer when he realized the ticking had been driving him mad. He stared at the glass of water serving its second night on his bedstone. Dust, including a hair, lolled on the surface tension. "My own story twists like a question mark on the skin of my tomorrow," murmured Ted. "I cannot rest while I want so badly to act, to pierce that membrane. I want to tell the story so that I do not end up in prison," he wrote in the themebook next to his water glass. There'd be plenty of time the next day, though, to tell the story. He'd have a cement mine to tell it to. All day long.