LIVE
BATT
Dangerous assignments are my living, confusion is my nature. There's never any blood on my fingers; Noriega has hell to pay for snortin' too
much blow beneath a portrait of der Führer while a snapshot of Reagan lay in an ashtray beneath a pound of candle wax, suspended in some sort
of Satanic voodoo limbo hell; Ceaucescu has finally rounded the corner off of Victimizer Avenue onto Victim Boulevard; Romania jumped on the
can with the squirts (look out for commies) following East Berlin's triple-bypass-house-cleaning. Tax time is slowly climbing up our backs. Raciscm
is trying to make a comeback. Censorship is surpassing fad status into a total trend as the ultra-high-frequency-titanium-hardcore-conservative-elite
infiltrate almost every media level. Condoms are the hot topic at lunchroom socials; bib overalls and pastel desert boots are all the rage in London
town; the world is still waiting to hear from Vice President Quayle; America's youth keep gettin' worser at spellin' the English language. Lithuania
is desperately trying to do something about getting closer to that democracy finish line. The legally intoxicated rating in California is lowered to
.08; Roman Polanski is still not talking (even for big bucks); the memory of what happened in Beijing still sucks; Ike hardly ever had a bad call. There's
nothing in the world like a good transition, a silicone-tit-smooth plaster surface, some hard wheels and a giant Styrofoam cooler filled with some
chilled prune wine coolers (imported all the way from the Bulgarian Spanish quarter); a $600 Fenwick Triple Kickback Jolt Casting Strike Breaker
Fish killing machine obviously equipped with more than enough high-powered energy, from the ol' $379 gold plated and black Penn anniversary
special Whizz Bang Butcher; memories of a long ago fishin' hole called Salton Sea; a lead on an empty skating hole, about thirteen hungry pool
skating demons, a Palm Springs sleep shack and sixty dollars in cold hard cash (the American kind). ►
by M.Fo