Mutt, telepathic dachshund, frantically runs from Easton She’s Bored to Nubile
Coda’s Canned Avian flesheries, little paws flashing into light speed wink-out cloud
of smoky faces, feline longings, and long days slumbering in sunshine status.
lucidity hints to Mutt of humbled human undercoat in karmic disrepair. “If only
I could find a stash of slow-culled time-reversal drugs, revert to human
status,” Brahmanic muses, carelessly sniffing piles in Contrail Park at end of
leash-line daily walk.
this?” He’s vibing in on Shetland pony fantasies of one Chastity Chatterbox,
high-heeled toy poodle owner, skipping shoddy memory to harebrained dreams to
solid flicker of factoids in her addled mind, strangely relevant to Mutt’s own causal
stream derails on: “…Sandoz Time Slippers from Dr. Croakitall… shouldn’t’ve
taken so many… why my feet are disappearing… can’t even feel my boobs…”
vibes back, “No, honey, yer fine, nuttin’ ta be afraid of, yer perfectly solid
and yer boobs look wonderful,” throwing in a friendly little bark, sidling up
to her poodle, hoping for a little three-way, absurd as it may seem.
along the leash, it’s vapid Chuck the dog walker: “Come on, dachsie, ain’t got
vibes him, “Dude, chill, you could get laid here if you just follow my lead.”
Chuckster catches on and soon Brahmanic’s poking around Chatty’s penthouse flat,
amid grunts and shrieks of typical human foreplay.
on, come on, where’s she keep the stash?” Brahmanic’s trying kitchen, bathroom,
bedroom hideouts. “They’ll finish soon; chance of me being dragged along for
any repeat encounter are marginal… ”
Brahmanic brainstorms, vibes to Chuckster: “Sex is so much better on time drugs
and I know she’s got ‘em, all kinds!” What with ardent repetition, Chuck and
Chatty are soon gobbling pills from assorted tumbling bottles on the
reversal and time-slip,” Brahmanic intones. “By far the best. Head for some
Sixties love pad orgy, you’ll get three-for-alls and anything goes,” sending
the couple straight down the time chute in sizzling haze of soldered lingerie.
sniffs around the empty flat. “Let’s see, they’ll be gone for an hour or so. Can’t
read any of these labels; just have to swallow every pill in sight and hope for
the best. Here, eat these, Fifi,” hoovering up the rug.
dissolve in city skyline’s paisley dishpan underglow of cobbled moonbeam glaze
and taut replay of timeline varnish overload to quantum buckboard plastic yore-slide
quintic population trance.
in dosimeter daydream, Brahmanic sloughs off feline lust, revealing serene
juxtaposition of tugboat corridor locale and heavenly ape-kit costume parity,
believing glossy souls and evenly spun electrons from simmering booze channel.
an udder dribbling camp edition, conned equestrian pallor drinking park or
pumice Pollyanna praxis,” he moans in steady swirling breeze of time-slip
chemical kin, tampering with hitched incisor metal man.
aloe hung furtive rider, grappling to mainly stain her calm posture, wad this
bean her foisted hedge peering hence weed time drugs and awl. “Wise ham eye nod
able to bark oar growl? Mine lugs sheen mire alike my onus. Weight! Hammy now
hand owner? Half sew, arse ewe mine dog?”
notice furtive foist dime data Fifi’s mate the chump along weed him to reverse
human lime tine. Drinking vapidly, he counts her: “Fee-fee, ewer chest loaf
lea, heifer sew spline. Yer jest a parson noun, an ink-ready-bleep utilized
free male, at bat!”
smiles weakly. “Kiss aye joust groveled up two mangy hove dose peals off Ms.
Chatterbox’ fallow oar. Fleein’ party queasy.”
two weary, Fiefdom, heat’ll ware huff swoon,” Brahmanic replies soothingly,
unbuttoning her blouse. “Slammy loosin’ yer tarp; chest relax hand breed
arse whee?” Fifi asks.
like Juan arse oui. Hide shave hit’s the laid Sexties, planet Dearth; sum ware
in Nord Americon oar Myopia. Oui a pier two’ve slanted ride indie mettle oven
orgy,” Brahmanic deduces. “Ether tad whore sheeple chest frock lie crab hits
aft ooh argree switcheroo, Brahmanic. Wad’s data smog wa’s fleein’ varoom?”
hour lungs,” Brahmanic observes. “Hall moat spurting lea merry wanna; hit war
ewes devil he piety heap eyes inch ta Sexties.”
Fifi contemporizes. “Oui batter pee carful nod tufa lamprey twosome udder snore
powder full dreg hove da thymes. Far egg simple, sum sigh kid aleck.”
ate, high tinker,” murmurs Brahmanic, notice ink tea she link pea ginning two bauble
hand cadge fire. “Dings her bay combing quiet lick weed…”