Psychobabble 16

Psychobabble 16 by Gustavo Belotta and Simeon Johnson

There's a light on in the house on the hill. The old Freud house. Someone is having fantasies about their mother again. Jung must be over for an all-nighter. And there they sit, drinking dung beetle juice and playing Old Maid. Oh sorry. That is not the politically correct or socially acceptable term anymore. The game is now called Old Man because the Women's Liberation Front had a tizzy fit. Why are there fifty-two cards in a deck? And more importantly, why don't the Jokers count? The Jokers are the most important cards in the deck. They are the chameleons, the karma karma karma karma karma chameleons, if you will. Like Boy George, the are bisexual, for they can play the part of a Queen as fluently as that of a Jack. And why is it that we are on a first name basis with Jack, but not with the King or Queen? And why exactly is the King suicidal? Is the Queen that much of a bitch? And if he kills himself would Jack have to experience the rest of his life being a fatherless strewn wreck upon the shore of functional family life? Oh the humanity. Are you looking for a friend? Jack is a single guy with no one to call his own. He needs your call now. Pick up the phone and be transported to a whole new world. Meet new and exciting people without leaving the comfort of your own home. The number is 1-900-Lonely-Guy. It is sad really, all the lonely guys in the world with nothing to look forward to on those dark, quiet nights. Sad and depressing. Sometimes they'll sink to the lowest depths, just for a little attention from their peers. Some become artists, some poets, some even have nothing better to do than to run a coffee shop. But this does not make them hopeless cases. There is help, I just can't seem to think of anything right off hand, but if you come up with something, please let these sorry sacks of self-pity know so they can get on with their meager lives.

    There is mouth wash and there is oral rinse, but which do you use first, and aren't they just synonyms for each other? What is a synonym, anyway? Is it foul blasphemy committed against the Gods of language? What about confessing your synonyms? Forgive me father for I have been repetitive. It has been two weeks since my last critique.
    No doubt it means something complex and AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
    It's all meaningless drivel and we're all going to die and you know what? It's all because of O.J. Simpson and Roseanne Arnold's extra-marital affair and Bill Clinton's conference with aliens and I just want to be all that I can be and join the Army and ahoy sailor, nice tattoos and I can't get Bob to stop and lions don't lay where the red fern grows. Ladies and gentlemen, the tree still stands, bur for how much longer?

I hope I can stall for another page and a half. Maybe we can stall for another page and a half. A page and a half is not much to ask, is it? Here we sit in from of this damned megalomaniac of a computer. His name is Bob, some left over reject form the last attempt to take over our planet. We actually don't write this stuff, he does. It is a sick maneuver to take over the minds of today's young people, but he said if we let him use us for his sick plan for global conquest that in return he would turn Sweden into our own personal pleasure garden filled with hedonistic nubile young European babes. So we said 'what the hell.' We just want to be loved, is that so wrong? Does any of this have any meaning? We have several experts working on the answer to this vital question. God this really sucks. Makes you wonder why a tree should lose it's life over this moronic attempt at humor. Let's start over again.

Psychobabble 16 Beastiality Made Easy by Gustavo Belotta and Simeon Johnson

    It is the interest of every man as a human animal to propagate the species. Sometimes these so-called men take this little known fact of nature too much to heart and try to propagate other species. Sometimes this leads to problems of more than a carnal sort. For example, let us for a moment take this case study into account: In the early 1900's, two men in Finland were found committing acts of beastiality with a three-toed sloth. Now, isn't sloth one of the Seven Deadly Sins to begin with? In any case, these men were apprehended in the act of propagation with a species not their own. They had completed the act before they could be hosed down. From this unnatural union, unfortunately was born the couch potato. Not to be confused with a potato chip which is a cross between a member of the California Highway Patrol and a spud.
    Not all strange creatures were mixtures of human genes with that of another species, some creatures are just a twist of fate in the genetic cycles of the cosmos. Some, I believe, should be committed to a special observation grounds for their own protection. Such organisms are as follows: Republicans, Democrats, Politicians, Lawyers, Skinheads, Eletist Art Fags, and any one that has anything against extra-marital affairs with goats, I mean, who really cares if the goat is married? And what exactly is the problem with beastiality if we're all decended from monkeys, anyway?
    There have been several thousand debates over this issue. Darwinism vs. Creationism, Godzilla vs. Monster Zero, Roe vs. Wade, Kramer vs. Kramer, Pearl Jam versus...whatever. Perhaps the solution lies in prose, for it is in the midst of art that we can sometimes find greater enlightenment, and epiphany, a figurative lightbulb above one's head, a bad case of the runs. Well, here it is anyway.

There once was a monkey who lived in a tree But two more arrived, and then there were three Three little monkeys, trying to survive Two more showed up and then there were five Five little monkeys swinging on a vine Four more arrived and then there were nine Nine little monkeys in their treetop heaven Two more showed up and then there were eleven Eleven little monkeys above the jungle green Four more arrived and they numbered fifteen Fifteen little monkeys fighting to be king Four more joined in and then there were nineteen Nineteen little monkeys crowded in the tree Four more arrived and then there's twenty-three Twenty-three monkeys ina violent state Five more monkeys join the fray and now there's twenty-eight Twenty-eight monkeys sharpening their sticks Twenty-eight more monkeys come and now there's fifty-six Fifty-six monkeys fighting for a gun Thirty-five more monkeys show and now there's ninety-one Ninety-one monkeys clamoring for war Ninety-three more monkeys join and that makes one eight four. One hundred and eighty four monkeys, and one designs the bomb And now there are no monkeys left because the tree is gone Ohhhh, deep. Like the fathomless reaches of the ocean bottom, and shit. Where is the depth in a glass of rain? Half empty, half full. Are we talkin' vertical or horizontal?
    And then there was that young lady with the donkey down in Mexico. A friend of mine got pictures while he was down there. When I examined the pictures I discovered to my shock that it wasn't a lady at all, but me after five shots of tequila. What a strange trip that was. I don't even remember how I got to Mexico. And there I was thinking it was the water that was making me shit funny. But that not withstanding, it is a sick and immoral thing when people propagate with animals. It's against the law, and God don't like it, neither. It's okay to screw like an animal, not with one. I'm not an animal! I am a human being! A jelly bean is another matter entirely. Matter splatter go batter banana nana no matter, fe fi fo fum, I've got a pickle up me bum. Woooowee! Hit me again honey, I'm feeling kinda funny. My fuzzy wuzzy whip wielding bunny wunny. Oh yes, slap me across the proboscus with that stick o' salami ONE...MORE...TIME!
    Do you ever wonder why a pound of unpopped popcorn at the supermarket costs about 99 cents, yet in order to purchase a few ounces of "buttered" popcorn at a movie theater you have to take out a loan and sign over your first born male child in the bargain? Sex in movies is okay but if I'm going to get screwed at the movie theater, the concession stand lady could kiss me first at least. I like kisses. Wet kisses, dry kisses, Hershey Kisses, kisses that happen first thing in the morning, kisses that last until you think you can't breathe any more, kisses that if you didn't come up for air you'd surely pass out because of, and anyone that says kisses are over-rated can kiss me where it stinks. Butte. Butte's so full of Blarney it makes me want to puke pea soup. I wish I could get my head to spin around like Linda Blair in the Exorcist. Then I'd go to church a lot. Not any church in particular, but all of them. I'd like to give a few priests anxiety attacks. Not that I'm against organized religion or anything. I hold it with the same esteem I hold organized crime. Any system that can work its own little magic in an organized way deserves a nod. A God, a goldenrod, an alien pod, a pound of sod, a mod squad. A squad of squid, a trip to Madrid, a kateydid. An odd ball, with balls to the wall, good God y'all. Ha! Jump back, wanna kiss mahself. I feel good. And you don't have to take my word for it, either. Check for yourself. Go ahead, cop a feel. Oh baby baby that's the way I like it, uhuh uhuh. Feel free to stop me at any time. I'm out of control and I just don't know when to say when. Did I mention I have a pickle up my butt? And I don't know how it got there. Although I seem to recall accidentally sitting on a sandwhich earlier today. Coincidence? Yeah, probably. But that's what they said about the deaths of John Lennon, JFK, and Larry, the plumber I strangled back in Philly. Just coincidence? I think not.
Standing on the beach Counting grains of sand Trying to pry the lock From out my clench'ed hand To toss it in the ocean The final mem'ry of she The one that made me realize Love's strength is like the sea It's brutal crashing waves It's gentle ebb and flow Its stormy breaks and and playful breeze It tastes like pizza dough     In conclusion, I've just wasted about five minutes of your lives. How does it feel? Suckers. Game over man. Go home and contemplate your lives. But try not to kill yourselves quite yet. Bob's not done with your minds.