It's Not True
is talking to Chicago. Rummaging through whats left of his underachieving
overcoat. They had promised double-density thermal padding. They had promised
a warmer winter.
are stacked with potential, this season." He tells his mistress, sly
ears twitch at the financial prognostication. Is he a deity? An omniscient
wunderkind, destined to rule heaven and earth with only his two-bit wits and
a sack of gold? She knows its not true.
is talking to Goldsack. Whisking messages of urgent intensity on windback
arrows. The lobbyists are wrangling again. Are they that relentless?
hoping for atilla the hunting lopez to return in a hurry," starts Windy
City Wendy Sue, "I miss the fur around his neck and Im looking
forward to sampling his kill." Wendy licks her chops audibly.
mind swerves to meet her new maker. Has she known of the hunting lopez from
the beginning? Could she still burn for him? And was allowing such a union
to go forward a hygienically sound decision?
fly-boy. Love your chatter-chunks. Which one of you remembers alvoranon and
the fish scoundrel? Oh my, is that your whisky wollops?"
makes no sense to Goldsack. "Love to come and stay in the Windy City,
Wendy Sue, but I got canker sores. And besides, atilla the hunting lopez is
comin back into town and I suppose hell be staying with Esther
and Rosaline Regaltine. Damn loggers!"
has become unbearable to Chicago. "Great hearing ya, Antoine-o-tom-a-ton.
See ya with a huntin knife on top of fiasco. A summer battle of epic
proportions. Hey, and give my regards to the pallys. They remind me of Ecuador
when I was on speed."
hangs up on Chicago. He turns from the telephone, one hand dragging the phone
cord out of the wall. "Windy City Wendy Sue, Way Sted".
television is untouched gold sucking his mind, drug-like and simmering blanked-out
pleasure. Goldsack turns to a super station.
is Ronny Roundtree on the ultra-tube wired in wave length blasting barn yard
network of your grandmothers fantasies - Lordy Lord 27. Its the
creamed corn that counts." He sings: "Lordy Lord 27, its the
creamed corn that counts."
television is lying. Goldsack knows it. Hes always known it. Creamed
corn? Its the cob-cabbers that count!
was a cob-cabber. Cut from the mold of one thousand kerneled cabs - salted
so salted. Goldsack kicks the wall and throws the television at the phone.
"Fucking Chicago. When Wendy Sue remembers cobbing a couple of those
cabs - then, maybe then Ill give her a shot at the marbles." Goldsack
is damp. Wet from the rain and the telephone soaker. Wet from a wrecked subconscious
sally - strapped soundly to her sleepy time. Goldsack makes her squirm. She
cant get enough. "Gargle-gadder! That steam-loaf high train has
no say in my day. Hes left on the wrong damn subway this time, Mary!"
Windy City Wendy Sue whacks a wheel-barrow and winds down to the wet grass.
backyard babe is beside the barrow, curled in a cupie-Q waiting for the sky
to open. She dreams Deaf/Mute Goldsacks hailing from the heavens singing love
songs with no words or music. She knows its not true.
hunting lopez comes tomorrow. Chicago shivers at the shine. Even in high school,
Wendy Sue went wild for besta-beasts. "Besta-Beast Bessy," cats
would call again.
calling!" Mammy shouted in the homestead.
Sue takes the phone. "Hello?"
How do you stand that hair!"
Sue drops the phone. "Mammy, cut the jam, sweet-ham. I dont need
baby Gumbel-grinder," Mammy spoke to Sue, "Dont take no crap
from me, Ill take no crap from you. What about your windback tallstack,
the number one lopez lover this side of mani-man, super sand. I aint
given that up for a man who buys his meat from the butcher."
who does the lopez hunt, hunny-hun? Your supper sweet or first born son?"
makes Chicago mad. Wendy Sue whirls white linen lassies at the original host.
ducks but is enveloped, nonetheless.
Goldsack plays the fiddle. He doesnt play it well but doesnt care, either. Wendy Sue wouldnt. He knows its not true.
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