Mouthwisdom (December 2013)
with Weaver and Kouns

RW: Use it as a reference. A window into the referee's soul.

ZK: The ump needs to call it fair. I know the numbers. I'm not just any chimp's chump.

RW: Larry, I'm gonna call you within the next two hundred hours to discuss plan “SYB” The goose is loose and the apple fell far away from the funny farm. Home at last. At the grange hall. The will blot about how us morose old pros poets have touched down with the feeler antenna. Six jingles for you to dead ring the bell. We are building a success story of Babel. Taller than the twine of the scanty skin towers. A compendium of capital M: for funny money. Yep, we sure have reached “critical mask” but I want what the wanton emperor wears to the soup house. I hear the steaks are high over there and worth every second of the five second high five hand offs of the Highlandtown bouncer with Senor Red in the rifle blowing the heave ho like a Blue Boy of the valley from a new creationist's absolutes. And worse than a penny. And worth a penny. I am in the sky zoo they dare to call the Tone Zone. The TB OX and awe.

ZK: Yellow fever and steamer; sticky miasmic, prolonged pickling brine prickling my pineal pliers that flower and sire mires and desires. I'm worried and wistful about the wispy white wallopwand of the Big Whopper. Oxidental magic; the western worm whipping and whooping like a cough in a trough. Banana hamhock, hammock, hamstring and hillock. Hysteria over his terrapin. I'll lick a lizard in Lima and ham it up with a lamb on Lactose Lane you demented lamenters. Stardummy Dixie can eat the Ondine's offal on the back porch of the Prowler's awful Prussian Officer. I'll punch a jaguar in Galilee.

RW: 3D Volleyball. Greyday's Spayday. The whole biz mako me “Sick to my stomach.” Agnus a mess of misses, track record deity-clean.

ZK: Grade A hump of the camel, clamoring and climbing the 40 stone steps of “The Song of the Seraglio” Sagging harem of the slinking, stinking Serbo Croatian solitary sinner.

RW: A-1 son of Saint Santa, the Pig Leaper of Delphine. We will make a martyr out of the miniature toddler coddlers when we strike oil in our new home, Berlin. Berlin is Lynn's din of sin.

ZK: I will strike and slur there. I will spike and spur there. I will eat Karl Kraus for lunch and drink Lily Marlene as punch. I'm a sour kraut and a frank, frankfurting Frankenstein with a jaguar to grind into Teutonic hearts. Look, it's binary. Bells of Currywurst clanging about the worried worst of Ten Gallon Heinrich who wears his Black Forest on his childrens sleeves.

RW: Teutonic diatonic two timers Dial up and scribbledy by Frank, mower of Oceans. It's going to take Butch Courage looking after the trimmings.

ZK: I say: climb, strangling vines to the veiny bowers of Kleine's marquise. Witness her ornry orgasms and odious odes to Ohms of all Christmases past. Gums of the Greeks. We'll slather and savor them to all smithereens. Sonic Youth Boys make a schnitzeled smash at the official Onanist Exhibition of Oktoberfest. Bubonic rats rankling the Teutonic chain mail of Butch's feigned, foraged Courage that the forlorn Black forest will fumble and Gumbo gull before the almighty hum of the hull of the Camry making knots against the Caspian's well wishes. I am the original funnyman. Laugh, Micah, laugh. Black woman by fire's ancient light. Make or take tests by Vince's puppy mess. Beach migration of the slanted slum sum of the bleaching, bleeding, bald beamstill. I know all curly Q intelligence stems, steaming crumbs from gelding's guts. Honor the horticulture, humble the horns of hecatombs. Will we will the still scrambling screech of the skrill and the thrill or discover the hovering limbic instinct that hollers hollow until throbbing blood and vitals tumescent its sheening moon. Opera. Operation. That skiff is skidding toward an island of insolent exigence. Ill impotent eels; irregular, insular indigence. Imps eating the tents of tomorrow's sorrowful segues. Action and reblacking. Trotter is as sick as the day is Bob Marley's Mellow Monster. JAVI IS STARDADDY. I am the hayman. Bet your Bulgarian Barium Bimscurge.

RW: Secure as a suckling. The entertainer knows his own sarge's vein. Helium henpecks hither weather tenor. Touch the Butch Dutch taste of tartar tannin Bappy TAPS. Enlist Sashimi in a roll of hard knock knolls. Butter up pre-nub nibble on tri-state citizenship. Yes, it is Oktober for them again. Every yearful and mouths the other. How do I read into Ian's chilly Isis chamber? The song of Oh Siren is sirius and hold on the level-planned landing into the hydro freckle I overheard the Goose scat gush, silly. A redial wrist is kernels for Tryst twice lift wisher that entity functions with exactitude and precision. The can is the cap; both memes buy enough stock to make employment appropriate. Hard dialer who nudges ohm back into the home. Knock the ensign louder for grenny. The green spray will do just that. Yessir, just a cuckold of old apropos prose poets who don't know it into mitt, cheater. Session carve the jewel clap canned. I don't believe there is a laughterlife, Funny man. The rules bruise cruel paradigm coolada. Quite the pipes for knobby knees. In love with Cameo Johns means nothing to me. Spoiler alert: a repress of ritual murder cleans the Kundalini outta the ballgame. Strike one. O1 is for Onanism. A1 is a kind frame to say: OMG Ossuary. Persuade me to parade suede to grayday's star power MSG Dixie. Full court incumbent Silver Steamer. Blank stare of the camera lens with rye mouth on the line to throttler. If you hide the ducks with smoky aftertaste, I will honey up the homely telex pigeon's okole. I expect an answer in the next four hundred breathless moments. Berlin Bonehead Blood Bumblers combing the steakhouse for a well groomed whiff of a white man's “under tit” Smells like Oktober to me, dry as a bone and lubed like a lucky snot wurst. Finally, the finicky Southern region recites the recess of incensed crispy respite of tent's lone notion of the counterfeit bit road asking politely to “stick a fork in it.” Finally, I am free just to be jubilant me.

ZK: Hoard your lentil lover, the Dreamy Steamy Sashimi of Houdini's Crimini.

RW: Just a laughterthough from the slaughterhouse's slather loft: Just desserts.

ZK: Listen Rake Beaver, lathering and stumps still sob, steel hobble from Steal's sorry grabber. Gimgo, I know him and I grush grim fell gone, ritual sills kelp. Yerba, you Sherpa, my fine teethed Casablanca; you night my picture falcon, you “wrest”le my Raider and nestle my network. Read to me from the book of Oktober's Christopher Columbus and “the krauts go wild” and another think. Walleye, worm, Wichita whirly. I saw laws in jaguar loins, leers in the Deutsche Mark of the Cavalier and I cried out “Sang Freud” to the bewilderment of that Bee girl that my Borscht bellied circulatory system vibrated around. Free to Jinn, seek to Lynn. Astral your pasture, sorrowful pastor. Prim and prune your noon, your wavy vies. Thighs hardened by Quinoa. Aztecs are Cinnamon on the tongue of that grand old man of fetters. You call him Applegate Al but he's all Syndrome to me. You can't see the dead wood for the lazers of Aljimian, that's your declining memorial, Matrimony? Call the lips, call the lamps, call the red rimmed limb and tell them they can run the long flight of the Impala. Impaled on West, resting in Hypatia's burdock and yarrow. Corner of healing and scent secret.

RW: Pail Gail guns it for the Lost lapless billows of Naples' galebreeding gully Bickle gills. The gills to pay the duckbills. The shielded fracture chosen to protect the young infant, the garbage pail and pallid as Gail hydroplaning toward ecstasy. Segregated bait and lure, the bottom line is the red line is the fishing line but what's my line? A brief visit, a pit stop to the pusher on the isle of the Savage Beefeaters. Ghost of the tritone. Clark Gable in a gully dressed as an Indian. I know Ino's deep pockets prove the skids between two pieces of Rat Poisson. Tomcat well done in the underground imu beside the maple leaf May polecat, please. Tertian gherkin on the side. Hold the hollandaise. Ah, salad days under the yoke of a lazily grazing rum cow in the hands of the lovely spaghetti man. Everyone came to visit in a suit, deep in clown town. All the shops were closed but one man in painter's paints asked if I would like to have a look around. I poked my nose around for a while before they asked me to leave. It was the day the stock market crashed. If they knew the good silk shirt spotted they would say “oh cool.” They hummed it without a witness. Dare the question. Even the Sally saddle does not know the outcome. These tears don't run. In my early morning fantasy, I kindly asked Shane for help. He said “No way, no way.” In my daily wax, I demanded the queasy way out. I am learning how much the mutt helped negotiation without fairly sniping the quarter. Knucklehed woven his use. Shame is to blame.

ZK: Emanations overflow from Eusebius and “his”tory. Cardinals and dragon doves hymen the high mum, those ghastly Huns huffing Huff right out of shameless Shane's pillow book. Lingum of Shiva, Shaney or skrill to the Laps and fish out of daughters. Teach a man to daughter and he'll feed the five pecks of rice Taoism and the fivefold light of the Fields of Cinnabar. Ordo or Ordure, I'll plump and peer, I'll polyandry and pituitary. I'll perfect with the Proverbs of the Psilocybe. “Alkaloids and Alchemy” a new book by Sandalwood Saliva. Perineum or Plato, a new voice choice by Reek Seether. Seeing how all stings are sequel, I'd yellow a Yoni as soon as I'd yohimbe a Y chromosome. Retention of the dogs of Diane. She will arsenic them in Alampur, mark my dark and dual my defloration and dismemberment. Cowrie shell, nuptials and the Giant of Androstenone. Study, steady, scallop, Saturnalia, satyr, soma. Hey Morgan Garrett, I feel bad for Evan and Rick. They're gonna take a Tiki Tumble in the “wrest”ling event of the year. On behalf of Mr and Mrs Alexander Furit and Arvo Handstand we all thank you from our blue bottoms for bellowing bunches of bilous birdturds.

RW: Shane figures greatly in our equation. He took the Finger Challenge and paid dearly. A dab of gob and a knob to form a fog. Selling helium by the pound outside the new world order puppy mill. It will go as far as a snake bubble. Oh Yakkity Zack, always the cynar cynic. It will work out. Your workout video “Soup to Fruit of the Looms Coupe of Kouns” can't stay cooped up like that all Larry day. I want to talk about Shane. I'm worried about Shane. I want to ask Frank to help Shane. Frankie tearduct, signing up for aqualine aqualung viaduct. Spell it out for Frankie, spell it out for the busy bee. It's a shame about Shane. Mental and dental. Crying over spilt careers while casing the joist. Prince of pagan pageantry gently Johnny Reb gentry. Bently Johnny come lately playing the Blame Shane game. Johnny Crow and Frankie Boathouse, the glitch to chiropractice but I shouldn't be telling you all this tar. I should be flagging down Frankie and stalling Shane. I've exhausted fashion.

ZK: Reiki Leafer, the grand crotch of Liberace; do I have the product for your penumbral, pierced Pineal Purgatory: “The Fallopian Phalli” We'll give your tubes some 'tude and testosterize your undulations, Mrs Baltic Sea.

RW: Local legends Loose Lipson and Shakes Weaver of legendary Tiki Rays of sunshine spirit go through the paces and face off the Sign Off comedic duo of badass bass man Morgan Garrrrreetttt and Kounsie the Belvoir believer on the kit. THE MATCH OF AN EAR ERA AURA.

ZK: Ax and Blade make a raid of the Glades. The 4 worms of Weaver whoop and Weill and the well digging Weaver is crowned the Prince of Wails.


ZK: (Picture of RW crying) Prince of tithing, teething and Thaing a handkerchief round the old Weeping Willow Tree.

RW: It's easy, Fabreeze me.

ZK: I'll fishhook your Orientalis.

RW: Just a decoy duck to throw Jake Justice and Maniac Morgan and careful Kounsie off the scent. Just a mindful menstruation. Welcome to MENSA PIZZA PIZZAZZ. Z, green pepper silhouette of Hitchcock presenting the master of menace, Shane the crook of arc. Exquisite Fantasist; the giant hand returns to humbly wash the spur of the rodeo clown.

ZK: Recondite 'rasslers reeling in the tears and roping in the dopamine.

RW: Dramatist fist blood Biathalon.

ZK: Demiurges dream steamholer.

RW: Lynn limned my line of dire. Radial lineal firmament Lynn met me in the Messianic mess hall to chat about chatty boys. Lila was a widow woman, whereas Lynn was a window woman. Waste returns to David Allan's Core.Everything would be adjust if not for placing my trust in the stock market. Now I can purchase and abuse all relief of stomach and spleen. Unwarranted fear of Cape Cod cottage cheese convinces the Shamrock Caprock to jump the ships-shark to cap-sized cats-eye in a cradle of ladle limping manes of milk citronell cravens. Bug Bite is rewriting history from a zoocentric point of view.

ZK: Listen, Lake Lycanthropy; were are your wolves when the Loudon and Louvier nuns convulsed and careened? Bug Bite studies the Barnum Effect and Croesius of Lydia asks the Oracle. Ohm Olay, Om Onanist, Um Un Urr. Shelter and bardo, bodies of microbes and meats of mysterium hysterica. Naropa and his mock moon miraging, foraging and Dandelion wine of the “bur”dock of the Iboga. Set your whales and whet your wisteria and whomp your infrasound, Indigo Hunting; Graceland bird ain't nuthin but a Incubus nightmare c-c-c-c-ryptomnesianin all the Thyme. And another lingum about Lynn's juicy Yoni. I received a terse Terma from the tomb of The Trembler and it expressely termed Lynn as the totem, tarantist and tongue of Tourette and I will eye her Auld Lang spine until the spores are split and the Mores are silt.