FROZEN FOWL
Pitching beef sticks from his toxic
rubber wheeled meat wagon
to dying life vessels
populating urine-riddled trailer parks
was Erick’s glory-holed fun pocket in life.
Erick spearheaded a whimsical campaign
to morph his hospital birth name of Eric into the
glamourous nut kicker kangaroo fiesta
it has blossomed into today.
Empowered with mild insanity, due to shock therapy treatments
implemented by estranged family members
as a way to juice their boredom days with frisky energy,
Erick had a twisted zest for business.
At 16, Erick leaped at opportunity when a mobile home frown face
was sent back to creation ville with a debilitating heart explosion.
Erick procured the wheeled estate from the freshly bagged corpse
in a crafty lesson celebrating mail fraud
with a delicate understudy in forgery.
Erick engineered an unrealistic business plan
focusing on acquisition and sale of frozen meat products.
Sawbrina was recruited as his live-in salami stick wrangler
when it was determined shoplifting would slay costs.
Prior industry experience as a syrupy flesh kitten assisted with
Sawbrina’s smoke and mirror performances obfuscating
protein logs from prying creep grocery surveillance eyes with
simple absorption into her being.
Within six months, BLASTERS, Ltd.,
cornered the market with a specific menu challenge item
which was both savory and unique.
Blasters, Ltd. emerged as
the only parking lot food squad selling
baby blue peacock meat logs marinated
in organic love splatter juice dispatched by a
creamy smile team of harlots
Sawbrina chained together
outdoors in an orange climate controlled
shipping container stolen from Hyundai.
Solar panels were scattered atop
surviving clientele’s faux campsites
allowing Erick the ability to
incubate enormous amounts of
peacock eggs creating
a vibrant utopia for some.
The hypnotic slipping and sliding of
peafowl bird meals from van to hand to toilet
proved disastrous for
Pause For Heaven’s Trailer Park
on-site sewage processing facility.
A psychedelic hemlock fecal carnival throbbing
with peacock farm toxicity fueled
a career ending diarrhea volcano
which sent monsoons of peacock paste
into all vacant orifices causing
reassessment of most cock related business ventures.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Berthed from mischievous leprechauns near technicolor shadow lands surrounding Honah Lee, Theodore Wallbanger rides mysterious sparkle railcars bursting with crunchy cotton candy clouds dispatched from slippery erotic massage vixens who rage pillow laugh hourly within a splintered transportation module that screams along butterscotch wonder tracks forming vibrations for audiences across Sugar Hill Mountain.
Artwork by Wallbanger
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No. 52
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