This trashy beach novel, written sunbathing
about the future of our planet, which I found
on the shores of lake Minotanka, is pessimistic at best,
in its vision of the future, the pantsless emperor
is given a knife, and he’s running around the U.N.
stabbing at ghosts, because he was celebrating
the assassination of the previous emperor
and he did too much acid, it’s a hilarious romp
featuring a choreographed dance of death
with full penetration, it has everything.
“Nothing short of epic” was the name of their first
concept album, copyright 1978 RoosterPrick records,
after reaching #364 on the Billboard charts, they retired
undefeated, having beaten their new rival,
#365 on the Billboard Chart, a pop-punk outfit
from Spain called Salida Del Sol, which translates
into Sunrise, but what was I talking about?
Oh yeah, pointlessness is not an enemy, it’s three
letters in spanish, GOL. But anyway, this was the band
that truly had no name, but think about that, or not.
This is the history of a Band no one ever imagined, or maybe
they did, who knows or cares about something they never
even saw, so the doomed do exist, lucky bastards.
Are we though? Really? Will we see ourselves, soon
showing us that leaflet binders are ballast, cast asunder
with unremembered passions, they are also unforgotten
clay bound bricks, because no one remembers
the orchestral circus, but the love in sound waves
will be diminished, not even by RoosterPrick’s
other touring band, The Beetles, who dressed as bugs.
