Millions of Mouthtalk: The "TASTE" Chronicles (August 2013)
with Weaver and Kouns

RW: Tra la la death talk. Eaten up by Maverick I am bug jumping Jack shot caulker. Whether you know it or not, dim bulb, the fuzz has buzzed. Unanswered by the dejected. Here he is, Orny Oards the las ma'am standing. Von gave it his all last night but the forage bean never chirped a shame shane with fuck. The lid off. Fuck the maul, I adorned the mop mother. Fuck the eyebrow island. Whammy mamie.

ZK: Little Ricky's cheesed off.

RW: Cry me a croix. The long bus to Hufferton. Try this on for sties. My new act is Yak Kouns and the Sign Off Twisters. Please book me in Toronto needle nose.

ZK: Meet me in toonerville, Looney Tune. You creaming those creamsicles, dick licker? You'll ride a coaster at Dollywood while I ride your case for being Molly Good. We'll have tea where I got divorced. Granddaderolling. Rip Van Blue Boy, playing 9 pin in the darkest night there's ever been. Offline, shitforweiner? You need to get wired into the mainframe, dumdum. I'm gonna take that pathetic excuse for a weiner you have and dance with it in the shallows of the Ohio river.

RW: Big bomb. All mild on the moon to nowhere. I'm not through with feeling Fiji for you.

ZK: Yessir, a couple of pathetic wretches. The Guest is ashamed of our Guest Work. It's all detailed in the business plan. Couple of rookies sent down to the Farm Team. Well sir, we're about to make our big comeback. A couple of washed up old hams making their last stand. This is the final curtain in a storied career, dad.

RW: Made five mill nails in my steam as we hail a cab. Cae is back seat. The doom sandwich is a load of baloney. Whether it be Ron or Rob opening the door, I am ready. Packing light tonight. Fry nite, no blade. A scorcher of torture. Down to two hand furrow. Making sales from scales. The date is tamari, not tomorrow. We can't leave purr pink dusty. On the brink of the bank of juniper. Suddenly Saturn slouches like a wax museum. Scorch it with his open face. Scorch porch thunder. Shake the rattle of the baby saddle. So tender the night that forbids the latch or knife or Dr Latham of longer than any starving fest. I have a bird's eye cock view of baby land. What a lay of the land of wet baby tears and porridge poppers.

ZK: I'm trying to take care of my physical needs in here if anybody is interested. I finally figured out how to get on my roof to kiss women. You were up there. That buddhist guy was up there too and he told me we were both gonna die. You can't die forever, Ricky. Peyote marriage, take a carriage to Blue Jay pickpark. RICKY THE RACCOON. I'm Ricky's new glasses because I've got eagle eyes. KOUNSIE NEEDS A NEW PAIR OF BLADES! I'm gonna bet my bottom dollar that I've got nothing to lose.

RW: I gambled myself raw. I'd play Vegas in a heartbeat of bug bite. Hacking hazard and licking lazard.

ZK: Licking Lounge Lizards Living Large in Las La La Land.

RW: I feel sorry for us. Our tastes bring us shame.

ZK: They used to. That was the 1300s. We're big boys now and we can't die anymore, granddad. Slipslop, mouthing that nasty juice until men are women and women are rakes in puddles of mudd.

RW: We've done an awful job. Awful Awful Awful. Just terrible.

ZK: We're just getting warmed up. I can do a lot worse. What I know about my boy Weavie is that he can hold up his end as well. We'll get bad, then we'll get WORSE!

RW: I don't see how it could get any worse. I'm so low about the whole thing now and seeing red and aching blue. You 'blade flops' need a wake up call. Bill me as Stardaddy Dixie and the 4 hands in Huntington on August 29th. Daddy ain't happy with what has happened to his fantasies. He's whistling. There'll be hell to pay 8 the hard way you bet. I've got you and chip's deck of cards right here and the reading ain't pretty. From blade to shavings, the tall man is going down. The real daddy's coming for his stealing lyin act and it's trouble, no doubting that. This is THE TROTTER HUFF, signing off. This is Dixie now. The tall boy is dead meat. He made a wrong move and I ain't the forgiving type. Late August spells certain doom for both of you water boy and Havoc ceiling. I have 7 fingers. You frauds are toast. It's peanuts for the both of you. I found the body. Just started my car. Headed your way. The real dad is mad at you cads. Your tears will keep you warm at first. First the pub is lit and moves like wildfire. It deforms your closet memory.

ZK: Dear Starmommy Dix-licker, leave me out of this. The 1 hand of Weaver jacking off the Blue Boy's mannequin pecker. Review in the Portsmouth Gazette: “Stardaddy Dixie, a new act entirely dreamed up by Morgan Garrett (of local popular band Sign Off fame and the manager of the Hand Hotel) is a tour de force full of nights alone and blades. When reached for comment, Morgan (sometimes affectionately referred to as Blue Boy) said “Only a braniac like me could come up with an act like this. The credit IS MINE ALONE.” After the tall, younger gentleman finished performing, the audience showered him with praise and blades. Morgan Garrett, a true Maverick pioneer. He'll be performing next week as 4 Hands at the Big Sandy Supercenter.

RW: If only you had gotten your facts straight sooner. Boy, I feel sorry for you my children. Let's get free. You're goners. In the grave CAVEMEN. Lights out you thieves. Get ready to live the dream. Had to dip your hands where there too many hands to begin with. Well I am so so so fwd so sorry but it's both sties.

ZK: Grandma Ricky getting it off her chest of drawers. I'm just forwarding all these to Blue Boy since he's the one who played the name game. I'm enough people already...I'm all the Deacon's and all their transgressions everyday. That's a full time job with no overtime pay for when I get stuck at the office transcribing transgressions or have to answer the police's endless questions. Just tell Stardaddy Dickhead that I've got bigger Perch to burn and to burn with in the endless seas and nights full of broken dreams. Today I'm Emma. She never hurt anyone but herself. I'm out of the frying pan and into the house fire where my entire family died in those withering wilting flames. I'm cleansed of my birthright.

RW: I feel awful for us. Also: Banana Ham.

ZK: Banana Ham, a product aimed at children. “Banana Ham: your finicky little primate will go ape over it.” A shot of 2 children in ape masks trying to wolf down their banana ham through the masks.

RW: It's commercial time. The 3 of us old dix are buying the air.

ZK: Air time is scare time, old boy. Everyone's buying what we're selling...if they know what's good for them. We're on the road to riches, Kounsie needs a new pair of britches. Blue Boy is gonna play both of the children at once. You and I will both be announcers trying to shout the tag line over each other at the same time.

RW: AM scheme off. COMMERCIALS. Just got one tattooed on my body. From the big house to the big time. From the outhouse to the bottom dollar. Things are going a lot better for the 3 of us since I murdered both of you plus old stinker Dixie. Now we are on top of the good shed of fools. The catch is we make millions in the blink of a bug bite and we die a painful death every 12 hours by Rick Weaver's shaky hand. I just quit my job to focus solely on AX INDUSTRY. I am writing a thinker right now called “Curtain Pole”

ZK: I have the Corporate Headquarters set up in the yard. What time are you getting into the office? I have your leisure suit pressed for you. We need to bang our bone heads together on this Curtain Pole venture. See if we have enough capital to make it viable. I've got an idea for a Private Eye: you rent it out and it watches you watching other people who are watching other people piss, then releases the findings to corporations for marketing campaigns. We'll be holding our blades on the cutting edge. Maniax Industries International: “Leisure Suits and Drastic Pursuits”

RW: Stay on track and stay supple guys. AX INC has a lot of video to tape in late August. We're going to have to go strong for 24 hot hours if we want to stay on schedule. Guys, I am worried about you. I haven't heard from either of you in the last 15 mintues.

ZK: I'm in Vegas. Winning at the game of life. Luscious Lynn is ready for sin.

RW: Dixie will pencil you in.

ZK: I saw the May Queen herself ride into the sun but she never returned, Rick-o.

RW: Loving the over and match ceiling. Hot damn I love it. Coffee is the birthplace of Tennessee. I ask you to look further. I'm sick of the “is it a coffee cup or a cavity.”

ZK: Tongue got cut out by merciless children, Rick-o. Before you lies a great river, Rick-o. SO DEEP YOU CAN'T SEE THE BOTTOM. A hand shall grasp at you. A hand shall sweep you up. I tried to drink all the water in a pool last night and now I'm in the hospital, Rick-o. They say I've been poisoned. They don't know everything, Rick-o. Birch. White trees for white people. Bring these 3 beaten brothers into your throne. I washed the blood off my hands in the stream next to the body of my dead daughter. We've got to shiver and shake like snake steaks on the mouth rake. South Mouth. Think about it for one second of your life. I called your phone and Shane/Trotter answered. Give it a rest GrouchGramps. Mouth Phone. He ruined your good name. Everyone knows about you shitting in your own mouth. I am the princess of Castile who died in childbirth in her 13th year. Cry of the sea gull. Cry of Rick-o. Boat in the boondocks buoying bears and Bengal tigers. The whole world is make believe daddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddy. I heard you whispering through the walls, Crop Pop. Some birds made frightening noises at sunrise. Now I'm awake forever. Tent of rears, shining in the setting sun, son. Tent of arrears, everyone saying they're a sorry sack of sadsuns. BOOHOO CHOOCHOO GOING OFF THE RAILS. Guest what? I can feel it in my breast. Like a stone inside. Black Jack talking facts. Lot on his mind and a brown load in the toilet steaming and screaming. Pool fool drinking up all the poison till the berries are scary. Cannonball, watch them fall. I'll kill that little guy because he killed my daughter, that's why.

RW: They used to call me the Chattanooga Chatterbox. Now I am known as the Southeastern Savage. Language is cleaned out. Get used to it, waterboy. Hands Christian Andersen. Hey Hog Jaws, this is Trip. Getting Varnished on promises down the cavity 8 Road of the Jingler. Business is bloated. Fred replaced thunder. Rocks in my head. Rocks in my shoe. Nurse source. I challenged hymn in his cell. Latham wouldn't let him. “Leave him alone” he said to me. They challenged what was a “mystery source.” My aim was to forgive them. Capitulate talkback flop if you ask one of my hands. Ask my hand if they took myopic offers. Ask my hand if the loaf boy whisked before the birthbath. Ask the boy to ameliorate and cavity 8 the damp roam. Ask him tomorrow poor fool. Too mel's great AX. The happy melt mid of his own twenty plus. A lowly jogger cans the zipper. Heraclit smart nub. I will furnace your roped beak poor shut in. This is the new day of surface you morse. Dial quick or dial will clip you.

ZK: Blue Boy's Blue Balls banished by a beaver blizzard. Don't get caught up in the Snatch Snowdrift, citizens.

RW: Tristan Tryst and I are on the roof of your mouth. We're getting away with murder. I'm hiding from Huff. He took down all the signs. Gummy gumbo simian asked me about war. I force fed him teacup pigs and snitched on you whipper snipper. The air horn hound didn't mend the lip beyond the dishing. All my tricks are in the cheek jambs of the lone lecher now. He wrote the book about it called “Svengali's Bladder” It's the only way to Hog Heaven, Hog Jaws. Go ahead. You take the poison first.

ZK: The 4 eyes of Weaver, with 1 mouth to lick up all tomorrows. Mouths on parade. Curdled couples cuddling.