The bright recognition of ones own mortality can really poop on the ol giggle parade.
Last night I was visited by 3 Elvis’s
The young, crazy vibrant Elvis
The fat, drugged old Elvis
and the haunted, massive dead Elvis
They told me to change my ways baby
that I was losing hydrogen and helium at my core
while expanding in mass.
then they asked me if I was going to eat that
They were pointing at a bare wall behind me
I said no and stepped aside.
They tore the drywall down from the studs and young Elvis thrust his manhood upon it making love to it in several different ways and yet somehow all at once.
Fat Elvis crushed up the parts young Elvis was done with, snorted up the dust in fat rails and cooked the larger parts into a cosmic frittata using a red hot skillet.
Dead Elvis just held the whole scene in its infinite mouth - his massive mutton chops closing in upon it obliterating all light and sound from time to time. Then the giant Tibetan horns would sound and the mutton chops lift and the whole cycle would begin again. This repeated itself all through the commercial break during the age of Kali Yuga and then we went for ice cream.