Man Man drink from goblets made of driftwood. Would I lie? These greasy ferals masticate with prosthetic teeth crafted from stone and metal! (Three parts shale, one part scrap tin.) Last year they wonked their rumpus on a hay bale stage just west of Cincinnati and cuckolded every dude in town. The lead brat once tattooed a buffalo dick on his right bicep with a butter knife and a fistful of sloe berries.
I fear Man Man.
Man Man, as we all know, developed from spores affixed to the ceiling of a Norwegian cave. In the spring of Two Thousand and Three, they set off for Amerigo on a collapsed refrigerator box with eleven de-winged birds and a week’s worth of salted salmon filet. Alfgheir, the youngest and weakest of the pride, died of scurvy en route. The remaining men dismembered him and constructed a xylophone from his ribs and spine. Alfgheir’s hollowed skull, stuffed up with wrenched out teeth and bits of phalanx, served as a crude shaker. Man Man played their very first concert that afternoon, 50 miles west-northwest of Scotland.
I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. They’d kill me…
