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Why We're Going to Eat Uncle John's Suicide for Breakfast, Tomorrow


by Smiley McGrouchpants


      "He didn't mope for weeks . . . How can you ever go there! . . . He must've thought about it . . . He'd certainly given Stacey away to Bucky, his hunting buddy, whom she'd been 'dating' since she was 14 and he was 28 . . . 'Sure, honey, I'll let you.' 'May I?' 'I'll let you!' 'Okay!' . . . Don't start your lefty-critique psychobabble with me, we don't want hear that that much-ballyhooed — if it's cited at all, paradoxically — 'Power of the Image' is just a drop in the bucket compared to immediate-vicinity validation . . . Well, another line's crossed and problems not needed are made, uniquely . . . At least that we can agree on!"

                                          THE END/BARF

                                          in loving memory of
                                          brains splattered all over
                                          the basement wall
                                          and buying the sub-
                                          urban, landless house
                                          you grew up in
                                          — after that horri-
                                          fic event! Ah, memories ...

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