Baxter-TunaFish-and-Debbie Reynolds
(excerpt & shuffling of story)


"I'm afraid I ate the bone"

"You ate the whole thing."

"I ate the whole chicken, I did"
He did not seem surprised withhimself.

"Well, that takes care of having a chance
to break off a luck-bone."

"Is there anymore? Another chicken?"

"Your appetite ceases to amaze me."

"It'd be really lucky to come across another chicken."

The sky started to rain packing peanuts.
It made just about as much sense as anything else at that point.



Jeff was on his way to an appointment for a job interview.
The name 'Debbie Reynolds' kept repeating through his head
again and again in an occasional occurance.
He had a long lean in his steps today..
well he started out stepping with a long lean.
A mixture of the 'christalmighties' was pecking through his spontaneaouity
Christ Almighty I've no clue what the fuck I'm doing going to this
godforsakin' interview... he thought
Christalmighty I've lived around this town for such an embrace of years
but have yet to figure out where this building let alone where this room
in this building is located.
He carried around a suitcase
he figured that illusion or a semblance to know just what in the hell you
are doing takes about 50% or 70% of the functions of understanding and presenting
The suitcase made him look like hiring material.
His suitcase was packed with packing peantuts.
He figured that in an interview there wouldn't be any damn reason at all
to actually open the suitcase.
It made it lighter, too, so when he could stride he could really, and
I mean Really stride.
Christalmighty I don't even wanna get hired for this godforsaken job, he thought.
Debbie reynolds, debbie reynolds,debbie reynolds.. he thought immediately after.


The packing peanuts floated from the sky like a springtime christmas--- but in June.
The way they floated so delicately down through the aires and how they drifted and
were carried by the slight touch of nature really was quite a sight.
It even made him forget about the urge to devoure another chicken, for a minimal
Not all of the peanut-packagers flowing through the skies were whimsical, though...
the ones melted to a char, still aflame before they landed casted out a smell of
charbroiled styrofoam and would melt to liquidous drops before they hit the material world.
Those packing peanuts looked like a raving, deadly nuisance and
get the hell out of the way of them, immediately!


The area was just the same area as the area described previously which means that the buildings
stood tall and grossly seemed to fall inward or lean over as if the tops of the buildings were heads
with eyes looking down with an 'oh, what do we have here??' kind of interest. At least that was the
way Jeff felt that day when we was walking to his job interview.
Actually, the entire scene smelled a little bit more like cheese than he had cared to previously recall.
It was a sour sort of cheese.
If there was anything he could do about the cheese smell then he would immediately see to it that--
no,no, there were no clothespin in his pockets.
Any ordinary gawker or rubbernecker would find it preposterous that inside the expensive looking suitcase
held within an ambush-amount of packing peanuts-- but to find clothespins in his pockets would prove
immediately wrong and sick-- to anybody but Jeff, who sure wouldn't mind anything to cover up this damned smell
of cheese!
But he was away from that scentsory appaulation.

A woman on Avenue I was draining tunajuice out from a can while dancing around her small kitchen listening to
Debbie Reynolds singing from the radio in her livingroom right nearby. She was on the fifth floor.
Her cat Baxter loves tuna but as a finicky feline Baxter would rather straightforward have the meat of it and
not the juice. Baxter was a go-to kinda guy. Straight-for-the-prize.
Jeff was whistling along the way--
he didn't know the hell why,
but he continued to whistle, even though that usually wasn't his sort of thing.
He thought whistling was for demented ardvarks and cheesy suburban america housecleaning product commercials,
and, occasionaly, for barbershop quartets.
He was walking down Ave. I
Debbie Reynolds Debbie Reynolds Debbie Reynolds-- he thought briefly but absolute.

Becky Mae Davis, the woman on the fifth floor.. the owner of Baxter,
We gotta get these things straight.. The woman feeding Baxter, her name is Becky Mae
She has two goldfish, an occasional lime-streak for Bourbon but isn't addicted to it,
she wakes up to NPR every 6:43 of the day and---awwhhh hell she's gotta empty out some
tuna juice.

She opens the window in the kitchen and points that tuna can in a perpendicular angle.

'Some cheese melted over asparagus, now THAT sounds good' Jeff thought as he was starting to lean more
into his stride, really getting the hangofit.

Becky Mae starts her tilt.
You know it really is quite rude to empty out your unwanteds in an urban environment

If it was a penny, he would have kept walking.
If it was a nickel, he would have kept walking.
Even a dime--
but boy, this was a quarter!!
He set his suitcase down for a moment.
Right between the two cracks in the sidewalk...
There it was, staring up at him
He stopped just to admire it for an inkling of time
Surely his interview appointment could wait for things like this.
He stared down at it
It stared back up at him,
the face of ______ winking,
almost speaking "I have waited and waited, but I choose You!
C'mon, Go ahead, pick me up!Debbie Reynolds Debbie Reynolds"

He picked it up.
He stared at it, but---something wasn't right,
right then right there he knew something bad was going to happen.
An intuitive sense delivers abilities often argued to have been
built in to the sensory-premium-packaging plan, somewhere along time.
Jeff looked up.

Becky Mae took the now-emptycan of tuna and placed in in her sink after
pouring the liquids out of the window.
She immediately after heard
"Mutherfucking damnitttttttt!"
yelping from the street some 5 stories below,
yelping like a hyena-gorilla hybrid suffering an immeasurable blow of
misfortune. She immediately closed the window.
Debbie Reynolds sang 'You are my lucky star' from the radio in the other

Jeff dropped his quarter and it rolled down the sidewalk and down and in to
a street drain. At least his suitcase, and his packing peanuts within, stood
far enough in the clear to recieve no damage.

Five stories above Baxter dug in to his fresh bowl of Tuna meat. For some reason
he could never eat it with the juice.


What do you get when you cross the line


Jeff stunk like he just crawled forcefully out of a bait net pulled up to the deck
of a large fishing ship. The little stupid packing peanuts bounced lightly in the
suitcase at his grip while he walked down the pathetic and miserable sidewalk.
Somehow that stride morphed into stomping and in four minutes he was due for a set of
questions regarding his elegibility for a job he would still rather not participate in
Christalmighty that lucky quarter can go fuck itself straight to hell and wind up in a
smoldering hamsandwhich, Jeff thought. He also thought Debbie Reynolds, Debbie Reynolds
but he was nearing the being sick of that recurring thought by now, quickly and most
He walked by a sign announcing a birthday party
pinning a balloon to the sign with a clothespin tappering the string to the signboard.

it was written in a colormesh of magic marker coloring on bright yellow paper.
"Sorry, Jimmy" Jeff muttered to nobody in particular, save for the packing peanuts in
his suitcase if indeed they were listening at all.

He took the clothespin and tapered it to his nose.
He also grabbed the balloon, wrapping its string around the fingers of the
non-suitcase carrying hand.
"Why the hell not" he thought.

The balloon bounced back and forth at each step
He smelled of damp and obvious tuna juices
His nose felt pinched and sodden
he saw another piece of change on the sidewalk as he was walking more towards his interview

'Hell in all Debbie Reynolds it could be a half-dollar and I'm not stopping for the sonofabitch!'
He let that piece of change lay there waiting for another victim of what it may bring-- for he
had learned what such false gifts with wolves-intention beneath could reap so atrociously.


"OKay, enough with the packing peanut extraveganza we need to get a wish bone---"
"off a chicken"
"Off a chicken.... immediately"
They started off on their search--- again.


Sweet Ann Arbor, Ernie was in a dream...
Still, in his matress, wrapped up in sleeping bag and blankets
and rolling around in his sleep.

He started in a drift, down the streams.. Floating,
Just finite,
feeling delicate-- just a hand's scoop..
He was buyouant-- daylight sweep away, with colors trembling...
He grew as time grew on
However slow and precious it treated...he grew into the currents,
floating down the waves of a mellow stream
and in his innertube, laying back, relaxed
Oh, flow
and oh-- he was the count of linear time
being meshed together through the lines of waves and ripples
the unsinkable ship,
delicate in it's indestructable nature.


More space more space more space

It was two nights after the 21st,
No, make it one and a half nights past the 21st
actually, it was in the morning time
and it was obvious that the calendars were a bit askew.
Doomsday was chewed up by reentry into the expectable,
or so it appeared for a small increment.
Still, Pope Gregory the 13th had a sort of tight grip
around the balls of time-measurement
and therefore the hour of the hour and the day we thought
as day
had a certain lean to it
where maybe, just maybe,
nobody had a damn near clue about any idea of just where
time may lie or even our perpetual space designation in
the cosmos.
I had been hired by a sect of quite fuzzy creatures
with long and razorsharp teeth and even longer and
curvaceously pronounced horns.

From the Epic of Gilgamesh to Finding Nemo,
there was no space in between.

I was on a bus trying to read the flesh ink written in a
stylized convultion of sweeping caligraphy just above the
asscrack of a femalehuman.
What it said to me would change my life forever.

Radicataclysmists started to perform unnanounced performances
of noncompliance such as collecting impressive amounts of
bills, student loan payments and weekend newspaper subscription slips
and burning them.
By god there were GIANTS among us!


Quetzalcoatl, I've gotta piss!




Copyrat/Siamese-wrong/Gather me electric, to carry that song