To the Hamster Foc’s’l!
Graphite Molten-Salt Reactor Experiment core (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Ugh, that’s what I forgot to do the last time I checked into the
asylum, find the freaking secret sub-causalian complex I imagine is
there somewhere, at least maybe I dreamt about it. Actually it was a
dream and then I turned into a cartoon manning a control panel on one
of the central reactor core consoles. Really not my type of work.
So maybe I best stay away from the ward… besides, whose gonna man
the hamster fo’c’s’l?
The kids are all grown and don’t believe in my nonsense any more.
Maybe I should attempt to reason with them? That would serve them
right, li’l bastards. Strummin’ guitars in corner coffee bars and
getting high on Information. Can’t blame me for leading a few astray
and giving them a dose or doses of Imagination, but then I’m just an
Ol’ Hypocrite. Hell yeah.
It’s the Capitalist Septic System, it’s the corner Nirvana, it’s
everything you ever dreamed you wanted and less. Wait, yah right, we
don’t say Hark! any more these days, we oughta bring it back, oh yeah
but I hear Gumbytron’s footfall in the closet bowling alley…
STRIKE!
You know that Gumbytron knows her way around a good smiting, He’s
taken, She’s given, but that’s a story for another day.
And all of a sudden I been noticing the critters wisin’ up an’ I
wonder if theyze gonna keep any of us maladapted simian’s around or
just gang up on us. I swear three o’ Pop’s cats was chewin’ on my
ankles last night before I had to wrestle with the Jungle. You know
what, I been thinking, the Amazon sure would make a right fine
landing strip for alien spacecraft if we jus’ stripped all that would
outa there and dozed it flat.
Then may I can leave this Gumbytron forsaken planet.
agnewpickens 