Mr Punk’s Underbelly
By me
Post the apocalypse, Mr Punk took a part-time gig at Interstellar Elevator Company. Somewhat like photos taken at amusement parks, his job was to capture natural expressions of passengers as they rode the elevator. Mr Punk became a elevator paparazzi. He always ambushed the passengers of elevator car 7A. The word spread and passengers of elevator 7A spruced up their personal appearances in hopes of being captured by Mr. Punk. Some of the photos were sold, as props, to Cheap Thrills Theatre, who were renting elevator car 7B.
Monday 4:20pm, a dub version of “Speed Racer” is heard from the brass encased speakers of elevator car 7A as it clicks-n-clacks to the next floor. In one corner, a well dressed elderly woman is gazing deeply into her husband’s eyes. The old man checks the time on his watch and wraps his arms around her waist. They begin to sway side to side. The elevator stops. The doors open. CLICK…..CLICK. FLASH. The doors close. This was the last photo taken by Mr Punk. Cheap Thrills Theatre made an offer he could not refuse. UNDERBELLY.
For years, white folk had been imitating or stealing black culture. Music. Fashion. Vernacular. Even the Asians wanted the sweet juice of the darker berry. So, an amusement park designed and built to look like the ghetto was created. UNDERBELLY. And Mr Punk was hired to manage the project. To capture the raw essence of ghetto-fabulous living, every detail of urban blight was captured and fabricated “for amusement purposes only”.
Bullet-proof glass was added to food kiosks and restaurants. Security cameras were installed everywhere so a visitor’s every move could be watched and recorded. The take-home DVD was an additional fee. Panhandlers, bums and vagrants pissed freely throughout the park. For another additional fee, security would harass visitors anywhere and anytime. And the most anticipated ride in the park was the Drive-by Shootings. Visitors had to be under 18 years of age to drive the car or do the shooting. But any age was excepted as the innocent bystander.
UNDERBELLY’S grand opening was ideal. Yung Gwen and her family came to the park and bought the full package. It was Yung Gwen’s birthday wish to be in a drive-by shooting. She glowed wit anticipation. Her reservation for the drive-by was hours away, so she and the family enjoyed the rest of the park. They were harassed by security. They ordered chicken wings through bullet-proof glass. She even shoplifted an original ghetto Picasso. The Gwen belt. When worn, the little bell attached to the belt rang softly alerting everyone within earshot of her five-finger discount.
The time came for her drive-by. And because of her age, she elected to do the shooting. She was excited. The car sped off and the target revealed. POP. POP. POP. She fired off three rounds. But she missed. A face full of tears, she cries till the ride is over. Disappointed, Yung Gwen and her family leave the amusement park. The following week, the newspaper headlines read “UNDERBELLY GOES BELLY-UP, THE GHETTO GETS SUED”.
Monday
The Hymen Project
The Hymen Project
By me
Post the apocalypse, Capt. Adequate and Princess Mediocre will create Monster Truck Advertising. Aliens, from Artemia-Nyos, will hire the agency to promote the forthcoming invasion of earth. In exchange, Capt. Adequate and Princess Mediocre are promised technology that would enable the non-surgical restoration of the female hymen. The Hymen Project.
In this new Dystopia, roughly 4pm Sundays and Mondays, Capt. Adequate sets-up a hodgepodge of assorted notables in the men’s room of mid-day dance clubs. Often he’ll offer a splash of neo-cologne or maybe a 3inch square shammy to dry your hands. Displayed across the sink are:
A) Beards and mustaches made from varying lengths of faux fur
B) Sea Monkey Aquarium
C) Questionably obtained cassette tapes titled “This conversation may be recorded for the purposes of…”
And in the stall labeled OUT OF ORDER, dystopian speakers are remotely set-up and wired for sound. The speakers were designed by ghetto Picasso. He and Princess Mediocre were caught cuddling in a Spanish cavehouse. That’s how he got the gig. His knowledge of the Hymen Project is irrelevant.
The speaker system, called Fertility Doll, collects energy from “high yella” women. And when amplified, the system conjures Aponia. The “absence of pain” was the ad campaign presented to the Aliens. They love it. And everyday precisely at 4:20pm the invasion of earth campaign is broadcasted thru the speakers:
SeaMonkeys, contrary to urban legend, are actually a fascinating species of shrimp, Artemia Nyos. They are born with 1 eye but later develop 2 more--that's a total of (3) eyes. Sea Monkey eggs can survive for years without water. Artemia Nyos are also attracted to light so you can teach them tricks with a flashlight. They are easy to take care of and will provide your family with hours of amusement and education. And like most of us here, Sea Monkeys breathe through their feet. And lastly, these loveable little creatures from the deep require water and feeding only once a week.
By me
Post the apocalypse, Capt. Adequate and Princess Mediocre will create Monster Truck Advertising. Aliens, from Artemia-Nyos, will hire the agency to promote the forthcoming invasion of earth. In exchange, Capt. Adequate and Princess Mediocre are promised technology that would enable the non-surgical restoration of the female hymen. The Hymen Project.
In this new Dystopia, roughly 4pm Sundays and Mondays, Capt. Adequate sets-up a hodgepodge of assorted notables in the men’s room of mid-day dance clubs. Often he’ll offer a splash of neo-cologne or maybe a 3inch square shammy to dry your hands. Displayed across the sink are:
A) Beards and mustaches made from varying lengths of faux fur
B) Sea Monkey Aquarium
C) Questionably obtained cassette tapes titled “This conversation may be recorded for the purposes of…”
And in the stall labeled OUT OF ORDER, dystopian speakers are remotely set-up and wired for sound. The speakers were designed by ghetto Picasso. He and Princess Mediocre were caught cuddling in a Spanish cavehouse. That’s how he got the gig. His knowledge of the Hymen Project is irrelevant.
The speaker system, called Fertility Doll, collects energy from “high yella” women. And when amplified, the system conjures Aponia. The “absence of pain” was the ad campaign presented to the Aliens. They love it. And everyday precisely at 4:20pm the invasion of earth campaign is broadcasted thru the speakers:
SeaMonkeys, contrary to urban legend, are actually a fascinating species of shrimp, Artemia Nyos. They are born with 1 eye but later develop 2 more--that's a total of (3) eyes. Sea Monkey eggs can survive for years without water. Artemia Nyos are also attracted to light so you can teach them tricks with a flashlight. They are easy to take care of and will provide your family with hours of amusement and education. And like most of us here, Sea Monkeys breathe through their feet. And lastly, these loveable little creatures from the deep require water and feeding only once a week.
Saturday
Conjugal visit sign-in sheets
Conjugal visit sign-in sheets
By me
Post the apocalypse, Queen Nigga-please, former burlesque diva of the silver screen, commissioned an international (5) person team to study and document the handwriting styles of conjugal visit sign-in sheets. The team is meeting for the first time on the Isle of Nonchalant. The (5) person Study Team include:
1. The Flamenco guitarist
2. The "On-Air" content supervisor for the BBC
3. The Trustafarian
4. The Camp counselor approaching retirement and
5. The Young Greek florist
They’re all cronies. Here they seize the opportunity to compare handwriting samples from the other guest to use as gossip for their benefactor (QNP). She is currently riding the white-horse. Her fiancé’s cock. She’ll be fashionably late.
Behind the bar, Mr Punk sets up the next batch of Swamp Water. Sweet and cloudy, the secret is the honey and the mint leaves. Queen Nigga-please drinks gallons of it to clear the taste and smell of felatio from her breath. Nothing else works.
It's near 4pm and the dynamic duo Motelsessomatto spin the soundtrack from “Beretta 70”. About track eight (8), strolls in QNP. “Where are the Beastie Boys?” The B&W photos of aging pop stars were missing. The same six or so press kit photos hung on the exposed brick wall for nearly a life-sentence. Mr Punk swapped them for a sculpture by the artist ghetto Picasso.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
On and on she ranted. The specially designed floor (concave) began to undulate. The beats went on. The bass went on. Her rants went on. And finally, the reverb of her voice, magnified by the concave floor began melting the grey matter of her guest. First her cronies and then her closest allies began seeing in Sepia tone. One-eye-at-a-time.
By me
Post the apocalypse, Queen Nigga-please, former burlesque diva of the silver screen, commissioned an international (5) person team to study and document the handwriting styles of conjugal visit sign-in sheets. The team is meeting for the first time on the Isle of Nonchalant. The (5) person Study Team include:
1. The Flamenco guitarist
2. The "On-Air" content supervisor for the BBC
3. The Trustafarian
4. The Camp counselor approaching retirement and
5. The Young Greek florist
They’re all cronies. Here they seize the opportunity to compare handwriting samples from the other guest to use as gossip for their benefactor (QNP). She is currently riding the white-horse. Her fiancé’s cock. She’ll be fashionably late.
Behind the bar, Mr Punk sets up the next batch of Swamp Water. Sweet and cloudy, the secret is the honey and the mint leaves. Queen Nigga-please drinks gallons of it to clear the taste and smell of felatio from her breath. Nothing else works.
It's near 4pm and the dynamic duo Motelsessomatto spin the soundtrack from “Beretta 70”. About track eight (8), strolls in QNP. “Where are the Beastie Boys?” The B&W photos of aging pop stars were missing. The same six or so press kit photos hung on the exposed brick wall for nearly a life-sentence. Mr Punk swapped them for a sculpture by the artist ghetto Picasso.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
On and on she ranted. The specially designed floor (concave) began to undulate. The beats went on. The bass went on. Her rants went on. And finally, the reverb of her voice, magnified by the concave floor began melting the grey matter of her guest. First her cronies and then her closest allies began seeing in Sepia tone. One-eye-at-a-time.
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