The other day at Wal Mart...
M C hammered
the edumicated, in my neighborhood the other day, quite stoned lost
and oblivious, when I heart it...that voice! A heavenly woman's voice
like an angelic choir or a small male child you wanna play rubba rubba
and drink Jesus Juice with...and I then strolled on, with a newfelt
sence of purpose, looking and feeling like a bad ass dude, toothpick
dangling from my mouth like a gun in Clint Eastman's holdster.
I made it to the toy's section, confident I was gettin warm. I
studied the boxes and touched one or two, memberin the days when I had
my own, stolen fresh from the neighbor's. Then suddenly...POP!
That's right, POP! Even in my stoned state I was startled. And
there...There it was. A freakin Jack-in-the-box opened, blinked its
eyes twice then addressed me. "I'm Goldman's researcher," it
intoned. "I'm the one he sent to Japan."
I pulled up a lawn chair and knelt. I knew this was gonna be
portint.
"In Japan," continued the woman, I discovered that John and Yoko's
romance was a love affair of epic proportions. Each morning they
bathed in igloos then sauntered to the nearest Starbucks for an iced
soy mocha latte. They wore kimodo's, touched each other delkicately
and affectionately, but never unseemly or obscenely, seldom getting
naked and urinating in public except in the name of art. They fondled
Sean, John speaking openly of his yearning to get this boy to Michael
Jackson before it was "too late" and puberty set in. Yoko agreeding,
suggesting their best friend, Elliot Mintz of the crimson complexion
as courier. Then they walked together praying and yearning among the
sactred temples."
"But Goldberg," continued the woman, "would hear not one word of
this. He became angry and flew into a rage, telling me he wanted
lies...that's why he sent me to Beijing, it was all them chinks was
good for. I protested, "But I want the fans, those brave and faithful
contribuors of RMB, to know of this incredible love affair. That John
died as he lived, happily and at peace in his mother's arms."
Goldsmith got even angriey threatening my at knife point to start
writing lies...or else! So I did it, I made up lies, of John in
Vietnam, buggering the little boys. He want straight to the "red
lite" district of Korea, pluking boys in the rear, it was his new
career. I didn't mention the Yoko...or the love...or the wonderful
sushi dinners they shared. I wrote only of the red lights, the
sodomy, the Peking pedophilia. I wrote it, because I was coerced, and
to save my life. I wrote it but I regret it."
Sobbing, the woman lowered herself back into her box. Snap! It was
over. But I remembered what I heard, and learned from it, and vowed,
with tears welling in my eyes, to repeat this story to all who would
ever attempt to discuss that hateful book of lies, innuendo's,
unverifiable fictioms, rumors insinuatiions and a big ole garlicky
dollop of falsehood.
Should you wish to verify my story, it took place at Wal mart.
Nuff said
