Part I – Declaration of Illegal Insanity
Who is the “Sick Bitch”? Music is the “Sick Bitch”. Love and passion have their itch, but the Sick Bitch is a want for a need.
The Sick Bitch has the earth in its hand to be thrown like a flaming pin intended to hit you upside the head. The Sick Bitch can squeal at a pitch that will make your dog cringe and force you to reassess you eating binge (even if you don’t watch TV). I have seen it laughing like idiotic teenagers sledding towards a tree.
A list labeled “Agenda” found at the base of the Rapportian Obelisk read “Destroy Sick Bitch, it must be stopped”.
“Who is the Sick Bitch?” Asked Goody Proctor’s ghost (oh yes) the Salem Witch. ‘Twas said that it might be called tone or pitch. Ethel the Queeny and White Heap were both fast asleep but I’ve got the next best thing: new blood from my work with mud. And so for this hour off of your life, I hope you’ve come to terms with your body type.
Part II – Corrupt Land Distribution
Owing itself to Rapportian discourse, King Kovalcek (The Fat Chicken) raised his staff and called out for war. “Capture the Sick Bitch and we will exploit its wisdom”. Meanwhile Plunk (the Practitioner of Percussive Assault, The Ruler of Russe, He who reigns over relevant rhythms) had already accomplished this task and had Sick Bitch imprisoned in the eye of the needle atop his city. But what Plunk didn’t understand, what neither Rapport, The Fat Chicken or any other could grasp was that the Sick Bitch was content in its own mind.
Nails ruled his village with riddles of Rapportian discourse. World domination could only be achieved by filling everyone with watermelon and then hiding the key to the bathroom. It was by chance that the four Dictators came together and formed an alliance to coerce Sick Bitch into revealing its secrets. Their plan was to kill it with kindness but first they’d have to learn their instruments.
Part III – First Things First; Get Yourself a Guitar (a lesson from the Sick Bitch)
In the interval between death and rebirth, certain concessions were made. The bed won’t be a prison and we’re going to have to put a dimmer on the sun when the baseball travels to me in right field. In planning for the future the suggestion was made to hit the rewind button and learn from the past. For the sake of argument we’ll call the button pusher Jem (she’s truly outrageous, truly, truly, truly outrageous).
There was never any real sense of urgency around the house. The word ‘bustling’ was just recently introduced into my vocabulary and simply as a phrase of description during a phase of contradiction. Next door lived a big family whose jolly nature it was to set their sights on the holidays. Curiosity led me into their backyard many days and always led to a tightening in my stomach from incessant laughter. “And Abraham begat Isaac… and so on” (and now do you understand what was so damn funny)?
I suppose it was the split second before the ice ball hit the special needs bus windshield that I understood the true definition of accountability. And that is where this sense of urgency came from; recognizing the complexity of the mechanism that allows an operational lift on the special needs bus. “It’s too bad you’re moving on” interjected Jem “you are like my alter ego.”
I don’t know how many shelves there are in the Library of Congress but does there really need to be more than one? “Well of course” was the coarse reply “everybody’s got something to say and they are saying it to themselves!”