Like a screaming lemming in the pie eyes of the border aborter, like brick mortar in a letter sorter or like little Ricky Nixon trickin' pixies in dixie, the Hannibal Cannibals of the second of the fecund FIVE LIVE TRIBES remaining in domestication training in the great Western Mexican plains maintaining the edge of insanity like the rest of humanity whose inanity drives the first of the FIVE LIVE TRIBES to subscribe to Vanity Fair, a periodical. Vanity Fair is a magazine that seems to be neither here nor there like the weird mares and steers who disgrace the face of the animal family tree, (e.g. "we could floss your teeth" or "I saw your boss Pete three feet deep in peat moss across the street" – insane insanity, inane Spanish banana vanity, oh, vanity of vanities!). Perhaps you’re asking, "Are we at long last past the boring, sordid past of the FIVE LIVE TRIBES? Are Tannenbaum cannonballs in order for the Hannibal Cannibals and the border aborter? What ho? What now? Where go? Fat cow? What of strange Hank Strange, and is the natural spatula actual? Yes, I guess. Hank Strange, "Strange" Hank Strange, The Hankster, Strange Lanky Hank the Wallpaper-hanger, Oil-tanker, Curve-Banker, the man is as real as Campbell’s is a meal and he’s mean as a Red Wellie jelly bean seen belly dancing prancing around like a clown downtown. And he did find a natural spatula with which to stir syrup. It was a stick.

Aaron Belz