the bad news
by Lyn R. Bigare, Pam Kerster and Haun Tanstrap

A church is a place of souls
Of buildings
This church built on incestuous ballings
So you better bring a bucket if you want to understand


	What are you reading?

	The bad news:

a dash of titanic, asteroids thinking in lasers, a nurse with rubber cups of fear, pygmy 
hunting: a gentleman's sport, old women with desk top legs, huge dongs invited to attend, 
stiff and evidence against us, the added thrill of incest, fascinating farmboys, rechargeable 
sickos, trucks in indiana grinding through loopholes, husbands on the blacktop getting
church mice pregnant, dancing in the slaughterhouse with belts and caps in the air, fidgety 
and irritable families going to carefully selected derelicts for a woman's smile, two hours 
of ma a week, live performances in the garage, crimes and groovy birds who don't fly

	      I don't need personality
	      When I've got
	      Little Miss New York City
	      You're lovely
	      Scientists need you so
	      You have forgiven me
	      Riced me
	      I am a passenger
	      You are a little pile
	      Earth is useless
	      To toilet within reason
	      Hunting for the prostate
	      On one condition
	      Sleep on it for 60 days
	      Minus others

i need you to screw me officially overflowing with reliability making the promise like plato's poetry i hate hustling men out on the highway stripping off his comprehensive reality don't touch a forced issue louie he was mature enough to view his cock as a mighty gift from stores, drained of tax dollars darting from one mouth to another, the purple head of his application, the children oozing out all over his fingers, yielding to temptation, educated in what pleased a woman, he didn't want schoolbuses to fuck
A sensible act will help you, master Yes master, he is not dead The assistant will have him die, master You'll be the telegram, master I understand, waste it not, it is in a knot A telegram, the earthman, great galaxy I have killed him, Jesus is responsible Is that an accusation, you're wearing gloves It isn't human, yes master A robot cannot be a legal witness why are there no notebooks on the moon? why is the moon brown? why are apples brown?
"We bar code our families. Our son is dead with a smelly woman and a large tree. We raised him to be a fine shielding device. We all fall down this morning baked in a pie."
She saw the sheriff, he looked like a convention She lowered the Dow, coated with lizards Punish her for something she doesn't understand And an alien race to glow all over my hand And she returned from the sexual wonderland She was hallucinating without the right thing to do Now she knifed down into international research Train her, and chip off the ol' block
Pub. May 1998 DRC