JOE: (clutching the hood ornament of an ancient car)
Maybe you thought
I was the Packard Goose
Or the Ronald MacDonald of the nouveau-abstruse
Well fuck all them people, I don't need no excuse
For being what I am
Do you hear me, then?
All them rock n roll writers is the worst kind of sleaze
Selling punk like some new kind ol English disease
Is that the wave of the future? Aw, spare me please!

Oh no, you gotta go
Who do you write for?
I wan u a know
I believe you is the governments whore
And keeping peoples dumb is where you're
C'oming from
And keeping peoples dumb is where you're coming from
Fuck all them writers with the pen in their hand
I will be more specific so they might understand
They can all kiss my ass
But because its so grand
They best just stay away

Hey, hey, hey
Hey, Joe, who did you blow?
??? pushed the button boy
And you went to the show
Better suck a little harder or the shekels won't flow
And I don t mean your thumb
So on your knees you bum
Just tell yourself it's yum
And suck it till you're numb
Journalisms kinda scary
And of it we should be wary
Wonder what became of Mary?

And no sooner has he wondered, a vision of Mary appears to him,
delivering a little lecture

VOICE OF MARY'S VISION:
Hi! It's me... the girl from the bus...
Remember? The last tour? Well...
Information is not knowledge
Knowledge is not wisdom
Wisdom is not truth
Truth is not beauty
Beauty is not love
Love is not music
Music is THE BEST...
Wisdom is the domain of the Wis
(which is extinct).
Beauty is a French phonetic corruption
Of a short cloth neck ornament
Currently in resurgence...

And no sooner has she spoken (which is awkward and probably incorrect
but what the fuck), enormous flabby short cloth neck ornaments obscure
the horizon in a multitude, beating their ugly wings and working their hidden
chrome snap attachments as they resurge in the direction of the White Zone
seek-ing snack material near the Utensil Shrines of Greater America...

JOE:
If you're in the audience and like what we do
Well, we want you to know that we like you all too
But as for the sucker who will write the review
If his mind is prehensile
He'll put down his pencil
And have himself a squat
On the Cosmic Utensil
Give it all yon got
On the Cosmic Utensil
Sit n spin until you rot
On the Cosmic Utensil
He really needs to squat
On the Cosmic Utensil
Now that I got that over with
I'll just play my imaginary guitar again
Hey... sounds real good!
Hey...get down, me...
Boy, what an imagination!
Love myself better than I love myself...
I think...
What tone!
Sounds like an Elegant Gypsy!
What is that?
Musk?
It':

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