"My girlfriend and I are quite poor. So we crash funeral gatherings for the free food. [bad word]  everybody's so busy crying and consoling; they don't even notice us in the coatroom pillaging their clothes and purses.
It's too bad that you [bad word] very far on an orbiting space colony."
I) Garden Greenroom, Battle Creek Funeral Simulation
Type writehead collide.
Tap tap paper tie.
Prolific benign. Fill me throat cheap rye.
I breathe a funeral foyer.
Me with glue girl Margaret.
Now she's kissing me.

We drink gin till we can't see.
Pâté [bad word] for symposium.
Pink balloons drape the coffins.
It reads no systole.
I spill scotch on the body. [bad word] smile prom night.
Rational hick life.
Self-hypnosis guide.
Exuberance lactize.
I hear a song on the radio.
So I spit on the dial.
Now she's kissing me.
We snort scotch till we're plastic.
There's a gimp with a yo-yo who say's Pepsi owns Tokyo.
He says pardon me.
Let's bury the body.
Hey, hey let's drive to the grave.
Now our cars are a [bad word] parade.
He says, "Hey, hey.
Let's drive to the grave.
We'll bury meat on a rainy day."
Human Landfill.
I trip to walk.
Margaret hands me a Librium, I say "thanks for the confidence.
" Now she's kissing me, my flask of Chaska's empty.
I stumble up to the podium, and push down the Reverend.
They'll yell, "Eulogy".
So I pass out on the body.
Hey, hey fill in the grave.
Shovel mud on a deity.
I say, "Hey, hey.
Fill in the grave, then steal the collection tray.
Pack some mud on the pious meat.
Pack some mud on Uncle Sam.
God bless the grime.