Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

lips. His eyes were beacons of hellfire. “You’re nothing but meat! Send
$19.95 to my account, which I will provide in a moment, and you can
break out of that cage!”
“There’s a sucker born every minute,” Jesus said, playing with a plastic
crucifix he had hanging around his neck on a hemp cord.
The waitress ran over to the phone to call the police. Jesus rose from
his chair and stood beside the Agent, who was staring intently at Johny,
running his index finger up and down the knife. Now he spoke.
“Backwards swimming monkeys, hairless ape. Up to their eyeballs, I
tell you—columns of smoke, columns of smoke, those monkey’s, the
pesky things, munch-upwards-power-sail-to-’em, too, motherfucker!
Running an outboard motor and two, count ‘em two, gazelle’s with halfback
motor-scooter soups.”
“Deep under the surface of the soupy chowder lies a gem, guarded by
a pesky monkey named Iago. I am not I, he said. Krimpets anyone?
They’ve got jelly centers! Running around Led Zeppelin Hermes Herpes
feet, leaden and jumping up and down. St. Ides. Isn’t that a dog? (No,
that’s St. Bernard. The Song of Songs.) Dog star aliens. Keep your eyes
out. They’ll be on the ten-o’clock news with Tracy Madesac, selling life
insurance. Figures, the aliens wear ties, too. Better taste in food, though.
Pigs. Now, in other interrelationships, pork rinds for free! Smack them
lips, boy—we’ve got pork rinds. They’re crispy, crispy, crispy, and they
don’t wear leather. Crispier art thou, Freetos; How now, Othello? A
morning long, spent amidst the throng of the conservatory, waited with
baited breath for my arrival. Waited, Waited, I.”
“I have no idea what I’m talking about. I had an idea, but then he told
me that this was an equal opportunities joint and split. I had a plan, but it
turned out to be an unkempt milkcow. Pull the udder kind of sideways.
Beefy-bat-bootch-bandanas all around, folks—it’s time for a celebration!”
The Agent caught the glint of silver running from the back of the
waitresses’ uniform. Recognizing an alien transmitter device when he
saw one, he brandished his dagger and let out a howl, lunging at her.
Jesus continued to rant all the while:
“I need a club and some cosmic bliss. I’ll settle for less smoke
columns and deer heads. Less flies and buzzing of Gorbetrov cocktails
bursting in the swollen organ of a disgruntled social worker. Freud this,
mother fucker! Less brain, more capons! Fuck fork pork rinds, we have
capons! Consume Capons! Spare Castrated rooster, mammary glands—
er, I mean ma’am? Ketchup down the gullet! Ketchup down the gullet!”
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