Millions of Mouthtalk: The "TASTE" Chronicles
with Weaver and Kouns

RW: Stardaddy Dixie has just checked into the Hand Hotel. Making an “employee handbook for him. The Growler and Blue has just checked in. And some guy with a tat that says “Mortal Wound.” Huff's looking over my shoulder.

ZK: I've already told them that we'll be doing Wicked Games Fest. They said no. We'll be doing Wicked Games Fest.

RW: We are on the road to ruin. Everyone's ruin but ours. Nobody calls the shots. I have Huff gagged and stuffed in the organ speaker.

ZK: I bought you a donkey mask. Morgan brought the plates. The stage is set.

RW: I'm playing a tire tonight. For hours. For Chris Isaac. Trotter is loose. I shit my pants. The mechanic bit my ankle.

ZK: What's your handle, gracklejack? I've got your mask prepared.

RW: I picked up the silver steamer. I just passed Richmond, sneaking up on Lizard Lick. Huff is wild. He's already wearing two dog masks. Daddy is in me right now whistling for Bourbon and Pepto Bismol.

ZK: We have Thunder and Lightning here. 101, student.

RW: We're going to need an extra seat for Black Jack.

ZK: I tied him up and put him in the bathroom till you get here.

RW: Daddy's got you licked. We need a shed. A shed of fools.

ZK: Procured. All of them loaded up and shrieking as we speak. Just saw a vision of a shrub growing out of a dead man's heart.

RW: Cae's in the Cab now. Bug Bite has jumped on board. Hornet Fred too.

ZK: You're so close I can smell Trotter. He smells like the forgotten dreams of a dying people.

RW: The car behind me is floating on a pillow. Trout Huff.

ZK: Garage Mirage.

RW: Busy Kaiser.


RW: Goof is not a climber.


RW: dead meat ig rubber gravel chatter We will make millions of mouths and zero friends. (Picture of a Vanilla Frosty.)

ZK: Lazy Ass Pump. Squeezin Teasin and Pleasin. You have to make friends to lose friends and I'm not making any. The worldz a tiger and we got a tiger by the tail.

RW: We will rum run and tiger tame.

ZK: Pack your bags, you're leaving tomorrow. Trotter's scouring the bayou now for secret real estate; I need you to settle in and I'll bring the gator bait back from the West Coast. We'll open a Casino and gamble our cares away.


ZK: Talkin titty turkey; the jerkey stops here, teabags. When Dr JOB is away that's when the virus plays. Vixen Virus, heatin up the immune system. We need to make a little “Guest” list. The gator's are starving. “In rich TASTE.” Teachers are the backbones of bird peckers. Suck Suck Suck. Weaver died. Weaver can't die.