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MP3 2.7 MB • 128 kbps • 2:55
Lyrics
Harold held his date-diet finger up already. The chef was ready for more as Harold eyed twelve women from Timbuktu. Their vibrant face paint aroused his senses as he searched the room for more of the small white broads.
The chef brought out the main dish: grinded basil and romano cheese. Harold, Jackman, DelaRese and Quentin all dug in. Quentin, also a native of the area of the big eyed big lipped people, eyed the chicken side dish. Yum, chicken, says Quentin.
Jackman put the basil and romano cheese to the end of his mouth and let them sit. They tickled down his spine like milk down a sewer drain.
The chef pulled his long mustache down into 90 degree angles and yelled for seconds. 10 more came in and layed down the dishes next to Harold, Jackman, DelaRese and Quentin. Quentin ate the most. Jackman the second most. DelaRese the third most. Harold the least. Harold was thing and loved eyeing twelve women from Timbuktu.
Quentin picked his afro and put his sunglasses next to his pancake. He took out his tommy gun and shot all the ski lights out at the restaurant. Bang bang! They were all gone blown up. Glass fell down like curtains. A woman drinking milk was cut to shards from the glass that was falling. This woman had a goiter that made her very ugly. People said “look at the goiter lady” when she was killed.
Fuck you, Quentin, the head chef said. Quentin was wearing a nametag from his job as a guidance counselor. Quentin made all of the children in the…ahem, Ghetto-Blues atmosphere of south Trenton, to feel more needed. This was a different side of his character that has less pages written about it because old women burned most of them. Old women with white hair that is nasty as fuck and has leaves and shit in it.
Jackman took the gun out of Quentins hands and blew out the lights about the 10 chefs. The glass fell down on them and hurt them bad. It was yellow light and was made worse by the glows of ovens behind counters. DelaRese made a cell phone call to her brother in Georgie telling him he was right about Quentin, and that Harold, though a pervert, was a better choice for her. Harold eyed DelaRese and imagined the two of them together on a giant tapir the size of Colo, Iowa while it has its belly in the mud. The mud was cold on top for the two of them, but the sun was shining down and sucking up the cold mud, giving both of the people a tingling effect. I’m talking about constant orgasm.
The chefs were cowering behind the counters holding on to their respectives hats and fingering their birth canals while making calls to their sisters and affairs in different cities. 80% of them were female. This means 20% of the men were fingering their birth canals.
Quentin sat down, put on his glasses and started again on his pancakes. He allowed the yellow butter in the middle to melt while all the chefs were making cell phone calls. This was allowed because the police wouldn’t be able to come here. This is the only structure on the map of the city—Colo, Iowa, that was offset on the grid. This means the police-trains simple binary codes wouldn’t be able to process it. Quentin hated the police-train and the police-train operators because they killed his mom when she was overdosing on heroin. They did it on purpose because her teeth were too far apart and embarrassed the neighborhood and damaged real estate value. Always made me and Quentin very sad.
I took down a tarp hanging on the wall next to me and layed it down on the ground next to me. I put the rest of my jello salad in the bottom of it and flung it up, making a big mess. It was really funny, you should have seen it.
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