Kansas Radio and the Big Beat

So I was in Kansas City last week. I drove in around 3 in the morning and had the good fortune of coming across a radio station that I now recommend and wish I had around here. But it is available on the internet at www.kkfi.org . They play quite a variety of good music, from the little I heard. I was initially attracted to their Psychedelic show that they played on the Friday night I drove in. I heard stuff from Jim Morrison and The Door's American Prayer album, something I've never heard on radio before, as well as some Door's cover songs I've never heard before that were quite good. I'm always interested in hearing Door's cover songs, especially ones that don't try to imitate exactly, but instead put their own spin and creativity into it. And that goes for all bands I think. You can never have too much of a good thing, though, so go ahead and play your songs, and his songs, and my songs, and her songs, and sing along and smoke a bong with Cheech and Chong and we'll all get along. What's that I hear? Mexican polka?

I want to go swimming.

Why is anyone ever surprised that somebody goes crazy? It only seems logical to me. And more importantly, why are only crazy people considered crazy? That's just lazy.

My heart feels a verge of something this hour. It was anxiety, but what if God comes down from Heaven and he touches me? Do I call him Gay? And if I pinched his cheek just once, would I be a giver or a taker?

Lastly, what is all this offense? I take offense and I somehow give it too. Is it just these stupid words? What's with all these stupid little words? They come and go like little drunken fairies that know no bounds to their infinite shit that they spread around like manure on your daddy's crop. And Daddy says the fairies help the crops grow and Mommy sits in a corner smiling away and the Devil takes Jesus' hand at the dinner table and boasts and toasts and rips off the hand, ritually because it always grows back, but the hands are piled so high that we eat them when the corn fails. Daddy says, what else is there?

I have a craving for Chinese and those little corns too.

A paraphrase of brother Aj: "She's so hot I'd pick the corn out of her shit and eat it" (as he mimics the action of using a toothpick to get at the corn).
He's always been a picky eater. I'd like to put a bun under some girls asses and dispense a whole corn dog, except I never seem to know where to put the money. They got them crazy little women there and I'm a gonna get me one.

I loveass

As a result of the popular demand of my readership I have decided to be serious for a few moments before the obligatorially astounding portion of the segment, and with absolutely no delay, I talked with a friend last week who was melancholic over the loss of an old friend and I pinched his cheek, no not the dead guy's cheek. And afterward he said some words about despair, no, a dead guy can't speak at all. Yes, it was despair that was expressed and I couldn't help but feel as if it were enjoyed, and then you say despair is a miserable state of mind and then I say that if it was so miserable then why would a person engage in such an activity? And you say the truth hurts, but does it hurt to be truthful? Dunno, but you might say it hurts to be alive. And so I say that I felt myself in a dark room, completely black and absent of everything but existence itself. I was not quite sure if I was alive or dead, and when I came out of that room I felt completely refreshed, invigorated, as if from a long satisfying sleep, after which I continued to wonder and wander, and I felt no despair and in spite of everything I felt mirthful and I wanted nothing more than to go for a ride. Go for a ride, go for a ride, WooHoo!, gonna go for a ride!

(-this message brought to you by FeelTheMirth!nc, if you're feeling saucy you may as well taste good too!)

peddlin about, peddlin about peddle about

Apparently a headline that includes the phrase "sucks dick" gives a rise to smut peddlers. Which is fine I suppose because I like smut and smut peddlers are cool.

I've been woefully engaging the news lately :(
Yesterday they showed on TV a clip from a repentant young smut peddler who engaged voluntarily in child pornography.
He felt himself up and beat off for money!
How cool is that!
But now he's in court testifying how he was taken for a ride and he's sorry, and he talks formally, he may as well be speaking Russian, niet, Francais.
I like France.

One time I was at a bar. Only once! Okay, many times, but on one occasion I got a kiss from this girl and it may have just been from pity. She said my accent is a terrible thing and nearly convinced me (pretty girls can convince me into anything) to speak American, but I found that I was unable, and it was only at that moment that I realized she was wrong about me and America. America, the land of the free, is a paradise in which a thousand languages gather together to sing and dance to the music. And that night I danced alone, as usual.
And the young man on the TV succombed for sucking cum. And people feel sad for the lad and they're glad to carry their banner of hatred for everything free, because to them it makes more cents. America, is only a dream, a lonely dream.

I got to drive in the snow and I'm glad I put on my hat today. It's so cold and the heat is low and the mice freeze and so I'm thinking that perhaps I should buy a candy bar, a chocolate candy bar to fill me up with that good chocolate and to think about the black people. How much chocolate do those black people eat on a fancy winter with hats upon their heads, screaming about the dance, and they dance so smoothly, imagine a football painted black and shiny and spiraling through crisp cold sunny air, as if to say I'm going to the dance, come to the dance, all come to the dance follow me and we shall dance and the chocolate bars await but they're melting from the sun even though it's cold out and it makes you wonder about everything and nothing.