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The Conspiracy Therapist opened his door. Two men led a blindfolded girl into the room. Sit down. Point is, just imagine two men led you into the room. They did. No, just imagine they did. Right, I will. Now, what do you feel? It's no crime anymore. Exactly. And what's left? Two men led me blindfolded into the room. And that's helplessly frightening.

The Conspiracy Therapist opened his door. Two male nurses wheeled a poisoned old man into the room. Sit up. Point is, just imagine two male nurses wheeled you into the room. They did. No, just imagine they did. Right, I will. Now, what do you feel? It's no mime anymore. Exactly. And what's left? Two male nurses wheeled me into the room. And that's helplessly sickening.

The Conspiracy Therapist opened his door. Two adolescents dragged a bruised boy into the room. Sit back. Point is, just imagine two adolescents dragged you into the room. They did. No, just imagine they did. Right, I will. Now, what do you feel?
It's no grime anymore. Exactly. And what's left? Two adolescents dragged me into the room. And that's helplessly hurting.

The Conspiracy Therapist closed his waiting room. He detected a tiny camera and a tapping device. Somebody's got to be behind this, he thought.
First notice. The Sewer-Side Bomber surfaces from his underground. The plan is there. The object waits. Scan the Terminal Station. Where's the multitude? As if a bomb just dropped. What? Am I trying to be funny? Like the guy over there. Clown promoting cuddlies. Sure toying in the wrong place.

Second notice. The Sewer-Side Bomber shuffles over to the tame side of town. The plan has changed. The object talks. Scan the Parlay-Mental Building. More City-Zens outside than inside. Camera's and guns ready for the shooting match. Carny-Falls. A quarter a shot. You hit bull's eye, your picture is taken. I'm getting funnier by the minute. Like the kid over there. Sandwich suit for some sandwich. Talking bread. What a picture.

Last notice. The Sewer-Side Bomber sneaks over to the polished perimeter. The plan is definite. The object is luck-sure-us. Get this! He walks into the Incontinental Hotel. Ah, marble floor, uniformed smiles, expensive outdoor garb, trolley cases. The Super-Ego has landed. ****, stop being funny. Like the man over there. Buffoon with a boo-quay of roses. Welcome, sir! Hey, what am I here for? Okay, farewell flower. Left hand presents the flower. Right hand chops his breast bone to splinters.

The Sewer-Side Bomber wakes up in hospital. Guy sitting at bedside. I was that funny one, he said. All three? Yep. Knew I wasn't  funny, the Sewer-Side Bomber said. Neither was I, the guy said. Funny though, I had this gutter feeling we went way back.
The Impersonal Trainer decided to open shop. I need a sign. On my door? I don't have a door. Next to my tent? I don't have a tent. On my forehead? Shoowee, I have a forehead, but I want it blank. Drop it, let's start up this bizniz with some buzzness.

Hey, there's a client. Watt-chew want? Oh, trainer, I'm in my head all day. Talkin' about day, you in there all night as well? Oh yeah, at night it takes over totally. You hit the nail. Let your night be your day. You mean, sleepwalk? You just graduated. Dream on, here's your money.

Hey, there's the next client. Watch-hue want? Oh trainer, I lost control over my body. One limb shakes, other stiffens? Oh yeah, one has to stop, the other has to go. Now, I got a thousand-and-one exercises. Do I do them all? Eh, that's gonna cost you. Pick one at random. You gotta force me to a choice. Force! You're halfway there. Do number 134. How many times? 134. Where's the machine? The machine, that's you. Go buy yourself a new whip, here's your money.

Hey, there's another client. Wash-shoe want? Oh trainer, I got trouble with feeling and emotion. Ah, destination arrived. Fee-ling is about being the one who pays, e-motion is about the one who virtually moves. Gibberish, explain. Shush, that's hard. Walk a mile in your wallet. Oh yeah, I'm paying everyday. Now, walk a mile inside yourself. Like breathing? Looky-here, you're getting somewhere.
Well, I'm moving on, here's your bitcoins.

The Impersonal Trainer sat down to do his numbers. One: I'm helping people that help themselves. Two: I'm helping myself who doesn't know what help he needs. Three: I'm helping the Help-Thing that doesn't need help. Ah, stop, this getting personal.
Anyone stood at a bus stop. Which way to go, to and fro, back and forth, up and down, side to side, anything goes, for the moment, an eternity it seemed.

He waited at the bus stop. Yes, there it is. Ah, driver, where you going? Depends on the course you run. Run? I want to sit. Well, sit down. Next stop is Mars Street, Pluto Avenue, Sun Boulevard, Orion Lane, eh, lots more. You going to war? You want to get anywhere, you need Mars first. What about Jupiter Alley? So you know where you're going after all? Seems like the stars. You're on the right line. But the terminal station's a lot of empty space.
Too many stars, I'm getting out.

He waited at the bus stop. Yes, there it is. Ah, driver, where you going? Depends on whom you're with. Just with me and myself. That's a crowd. Next stop is Family Street, School Street, Job Avenue, Sect Boulevard, Yoga Lane, Qi-Gong Alley and Graveyard Junction. Phew, what a ride. I have a choice? No. Well, I'll join the parade. Yeah, and end up alone.
Too many people, I'm getting out.

He waited at the bus stop. Yes, there it is. Ah, driver, where you going? Depends on the dirt you're standing on. Let me look. Part sand, part clay, part stones. Could be anywhere. Look, I stop at Rock Road, Sand Boulevard, Sea Lane, Air Junction, Mud Street. Sounds pretty ***** to me. Son, it's just like you. Well, actually I'm looking for a clean up. Right, Air Thoroughfare is the one.
Too much wind, I'm getting out.

If life's a bus, Anyone thought,  why do I have to keep getting out?
Read your mind, the driver thought, want me to do without sleep?
The Sky Butcher levitated to his Cumulus Mall. Picked up a chuck of air, seasoned it with cloud, sprinkled it with breeze. No chopping, no flattening.

In walked a customer. (Thought I cut some figure.) What's it gonna be? Looking for something to **** in. Well, got you a real soft Pigeon Breath. This one's gonna stay flapping inside you. Zoots me, I gotta fly.

In walked another customer. (Thought I knew my cuts of heat.) What's it gonna be? Looking for something to ******* away. Well, got you a prime T-Bone Twister. You'll never be found again. Pack it in, I'm packing up.

In walked yet another customer. (Thought I knew my meat & greet.) What's it gonna be? Looking for a smell that puts me unconcho. Well, got you some tender little Southpaw. Phoooo! I'm gone already.

Blasta, the Sky Butcher said to himself, I'm heavytating back to the flats. My meat's getting thin up here.

On his way home he saw a truck passing. Oxy-Gen, it said on the side. Genetically modified air, new to me. Gotta get me some second wind first thing tomorrow.
Talking about the F-Word, let's talk.

Hey, it's a guy: F. Word. F. Word becomes F. Lesh.

F. Word looked at his watch. Saw the Metro-Gnome. Little sucker just keeps walking. F. Word watched his look. Narrow tunnels, deep sink holes, wide open spaces.

Here we go, he thought. Steps into his own pipe. Blackness breakable What's that over there? An old friend calls out to him. Hey, got some new clothes for you. Yeah, you deal in shrouds. So? What's the fear? You're gonna get dressed up in the end anyway. And after you see the light. The light I see now is a fight.

Here we go again, he thought. Steps into his own chasm. Darkness drinkable. After some deep falling he plunks down in an inch of water. What’s that over there? Another old friend calls out to him. Hey, got some new proteins for you. Yeah, the fleas, and who ends up as food? So? What's the fear? You're gonna get eaten anyway. And after there’s the apple tree. I'll be the apple, I'll flee.

Here we go again, he thought. Steps into his own vistas. Brownout boatable. Another old friend calls out to him. Hey, got some new ship for you. Yeah, the one that carries me nowhere. So? What's the fear? You're gonna be shipped off anyway. And your last Port of Call will be the Court of Pall. Must say, you got a way with words. You just gave me the floats.

The friends met in Mr. Koestler's Twilight Bar. How come we hardly ever see you here? they said to F. Word.  Keep getting lost, get into a fight, have to run, end up on my back in the canal. Boy, you still got your looks. How do you keep 'm up? Oh, those looks. I just traded in my Kingdom.
A boy thought: I love to sing, but I can't sing.
He tried to sing a song, but when he did everybody held their hands over their ears.
So he went for a walk and sang for himself.
Just then he passed a meadow and a cow responded with a long MOOO.
Well, he said, tell me cow, how did you learn to mooo so beautifully.
The cow said, I learned it from my mother, who always went MOOO when she was full
of milk, so I knew I could drink.
So, said the boy, if I sing MOOO, everybody will think I'm a singing cow and clap their hands instead of holding them over their ears.
Now, said the cow, I'll tell you what. I once was just grazing away and saw a man sitting cross legged and eyes closed on the edge of the meadow behind the fence.
And he sang OOOM.
That's MOOO the other way round, said the boy.
Yes, said the cow, you're human, so why sing like a cow. Just sit down, close your eyes and turn the
MOOO around and you have a beautiful sound.
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