the terrorist's meth lab on sesame street

8/14/2019 The Terrorist's Meth Lab on Sesame Street

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The Terrorists Meth Lab on Sesame Street

Im wearing a wet suit with a scuba mask in a crowded subway

Out of breath because Big Bird just chased me six city blocks

Screaming obscenities and brandishing a sawed off shotgun

He refused to tell me how to get to Sesame Street

In the kooky subway carriage, a doomsday cult of ventriloquists without dummies

Tell knock-knock jokes

and quote Ginsberg sporadically

Emphatically poking my ribs with used vibrators,

They attempt to sell me yesterdays lottery tickets

I politely decline their solicitations but enjoy their unique interpretations of Howl

Nobody in the crazy car asks me for change or identification

Not even the homeless homophobic circus clown who keeps on farting

Or even the cross-eyed mime wearing a rainbow afro wig and only one shoe

When I get out at my superfluous stop,

I meet Martha Stewart on the pitch-black platform

Her head is revolving like the Exorcist, and shes dressed in a 1920s purple polka

doted bathing suit

She asks me how I am in Chinese street slang, vomits, and offers me stock tips

She tells me I should run sideways into oncoming traffic shouting korma recipes and

Quickly waves goodbye with a middle finger, dancing the Running Man out of the

revolving door

Too-da-loo!


2/6

See ya later, alligator!

Walking out into the suicidal street lacking empathy,

I see an eclectic electronics store with a large window display of TVs

24 hour news cycles are euphonic in fast moving imagery and perfect alignment

Talking impatiently in interruptions about missing white teenagers, sports scores,

and celebrity gossip

As brief crawls regarding the genocide in Congo pulsate, I try to remote control click

away pedestrians

Wheres a TV guide when you need it?

Walking past an asinine alley,

I hallucinate the Tooth Fairy holding up Cookie Monster at gunpoint

Cookie Monster incoherently mutters something in a Cuban accent about:

I aint got yo money, mang!

A commotion soon ensues as Paul Wolfowitz runs down the street on all fours, nude,disoriented

He barks like a dog and bites random people; ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!

ERRRRRRRRR!!!!!!

Foaming from the mouth,

He squeals a profanity laced tirade against the liberal commies that want to take

away his

Alpaca farm full of Iraqi children chained to radiators in his basement

Whilst doing a partial handstand, he whispers like Brutus in my ear,

Pram ada pram idam

Prt pram udacyate

Prasya pram dya


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Pram evvasiyate.

Nearby, in front of a foreclosed on church

Seven Hooters waitresses gather for their weekly support group

Though they arent there for personal reasons

Its all about the fire hose enemas, bad coffee, and Mattlock reruns

A group of German tourists walk up next to me

I yell Fick Dich to them so they feel welcome

When they ask me where Im going,

I tell them Im on my way to see the Terrorist

He lives in the Meth Lab on Sesame Street

Its between Washington, DC

And New York City

Eerily east of Essex

North of Bangkok

West of Sydney

It used to be in Caracas

But now its just a few blocks away

The last time I went there, I drove home at 90 miles an hour in reverse on the

wrong side of the highway for seven hours straight blasting Celine Dion from my

distorted radio in a constant loop

This time Ill come back on a Segway or a rickshaw instead!

Auf Wiedersehen! So long! Goodbye!

We part and exchange hostile text messages


4/6

[woleb rorrim eht nI

eotletsim eht rednU

stimrep tuohtiw stimreH

timreK dna yggiP sM kcajraC]

Walking to the spot, I enter the goofy ghetto sponsored by Bank of America

Pompous posses of gangly gangsta rappers on every street corner have gay sex

While smoking banal blunts rolled up from Florida 2000 butterfly ballots

They spit at me and throw gold chains and urinate in my direction

I thank them and perm my hair with pepper spray

This sure isnt Mr. Rogers Neighborhood!

On the next street hopscotch a pack of crack smoking girl scouts

They calmly riot, throwing Molotov cocktails and

Smashing windows and pumpkins, too

I ask one named Betsy Lou, why the upheaval? Why the evil?

She tells me that their jobs selling cookies have been outsourced

To coarse robots controlled by girl scouts in New Dehli

Like a jellyfish,

the little bitch

kicks me in the nuts, struts, and steals my subway ticket and runs away yodeling

Flailing her arms like a windmill, but still,

I thank her and brush my teeth in the sewer

CONTRA NATURAM


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I finally arrive at the Meth Lab

To get in, I have to give the password to Oscar

Hes the grouch who lives in a garbage can out front

I noisely knock on his lid, da-dada-da-da-da-da!

He pops up reeking of cheap whiskey and the perfume of an Asian hooker

He belligerently inquires (in a voice that sounds like an angry Black Man), What,

muthafucka?

I tell him Karl Roves Rectal Exam(the password)

As he opens the door, I ask him why he is such a grouch

He says, Youd be a grouch, too, if ya lived in a garbage can, bitch!

I concur with him and walk inside backwards doing the Moonwalk

Inside, Elmo smokes a bong and collects money from a prostitute with three tits

Bert and Ernie watch Will and Grace, bake a quiche, and talk shit

Snuffaluffagus watches snuff films and sharpens his knife

Talking about how hes gonna cut up Big Bird and make fried chicken outta his wife

I ask a psychotic 6 year old girl sorting powder like Scarface if I can see the Terrorist

She hands me a mirror


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the terrorist's meth lab on sesame street

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