The recognition of ones own mortality, can really poop on the ol giggle parade.
Last night I was visited by 3 Elvis’s
The young, crazy vibrant Elvis
The fat, drugged old Elvis
and the massive dead Elvis
They told me to change my ways baby
that I was losing hydrogen and helium at my core
while expanding in mass.
and then they asked if I was going to eat that
They were pointing at my kitchen wall.
I said no and stepped aside.
With a high leg kick and a pelvic thrust young Elvis tore the wall from its studs, his manhood making love to it in several different ways and yet somehow all at once.
Fat Elvis snorted up the dust and sang a jaunty ramblin’ tune all while cooking the larger remnants of the wall into a red hot cosmic frittata.
Dead Elvis held the entire scene in his infinite mouth. His massive mutton chops closing in upon it from time to time, obliterating all light and sound. Then the giant horns sound and the mutton chops lift and the whole cycle begins again. This repeated itself all throughout the commercial break during the age of Kali Yuga and then we went for for some ice cream, baby.
