‘You talk like we shouldn’t be pelting you with wet sacks of garbage.’

So far out in the Mojave Desert

there are only two radio stations:

Christian and Christian Pop. I air guitar

the tune to ‘It’s Chilltown, My Chill Saviour.’

Choosing chili verde or colorado

would have destroyed Solomon. Should I die

because I can’t choose between a mirror

and a better, more cost-effective, mirror?

If you put a massive lump of grey hair

on a potato you wouldn’t be able

to distinguish it from me. Potato,

do potato, re potato, mi, so, fa.

Though the dust I hear about Bro Vegas

and that the ex is killing it at Keno;

a granite mountain gives up many stones,

‘O Totes Cool Lord, You’re Terribly Awesome.’