983. AND ME AT THE GOD-DAMNED INFERNO

AND ME AT THE
GOD-DAMNED INFERNO
I wasn't twirling no spaghetti - only southern
monkeys did that. I hadn't left the car roof
down in no convertible rain. Fiat Schmiat;
this was all Ferrari or nothing at all. And
anyway, elephants have bigger toes.
-
This guy from Marina Del Vapor or
somewhere equally vague was acting
as a sorcerer to his own shady circus.
Together, as one, they all ate his beans
and circles, corn and rice, anything
he'd throw their way. They grew fat,
and they looked sickly to boot.
-
My diamond was the biggest in the room.
I'd stuffed it in my ear, where no one would
really have thought to look - till Madame
Villanueva, the chick from Kansas City,
stretched her awkward legs around my
waiting neck. I understood immediately -
and this was plenty of trouble now.
-
Tourists with their fucking cameras.
Little Chinese dudes endlessly yapping
on. Children, with dreams of great big
educations, crapping around the campus
like they came from God's very brood.
What the Hell? Gotta' be nice, can't
be rude. Welcome to the state
of Salacia; and climb aboard!