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A Reasonable Explanation
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Story Notes:

Written circa 2006.

Hello, Clarice, it’s been a while
so I’ve come back to cramp your style.
I hope you haven’t missed me much—
it’s just so hard to keep in touch
what with the crack addiction I began
and fourteen failed rehab programs
that followed when I was acquitted
from the psych ward where I was committed
this past March after my abduction
by E.T.s armed with anal suction
who tortured me and stole my bones
to use to make a troop of clones
to fight an intergalactic war
in Delta quadrant one-oh-four.

The aliens were nice, at least:
gave me Zektar bones and U’lor Gleets
and took me to their alien king
who gave me an engagement ring
of solid pvy’lok, so I stayed
for a couple weeks, then came the day
that I couldn’t stand teh secks no more
performed in ways that’d revolt a whore
so I commandeered the royal fleet
and beat a hasty, brave retreat.

I navigated by the stars
past Jupiter and Planet Mars
and finally made it back to Earth
where I crash-landed in Fort Worth
and joined a group carnie clowns
just to get by ‘til I’d skip town
which I did just as soon as I discover’d
that they were inbred cannibal truckers.

I ran like hell and didn’t slow
‘til I was entering Kokomo
(that’s in Indiana) where I met
a man named Jones, and you bet
I told him everything I’d been through,
and then he said, "Sucks to be you."

And then the nice young men in white
dressed me in a coat with straps so tight
and hauled me away to the Happy Home
where I stayed for weeks in a room of foam
and they wouldn’t let me out past dark
or play with things that were too sharp.

And when my brain was washed complete
they turned me out into the street
where I wandered like an amnesiac
and met Kate Moss, got hooked on crack
then her sister Tree took pity on me
and signed me up for 12-step therapy
which I failed not once but fourteen times
but that’s okay cos I’m in my prime
and I wrote a poem about my tale,
made millions when it went on sale.

I bought a house in Beverly Hills
and could at last afford some happy pills,
and now I’m better. This poem is through.
And not a fucking word was true.



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