Fast forward to 2015. The year is just ending in a flourish of turnstile physics and root-magic.
This was the peace of North Americay. Long before fines for Goldfrapp possession would be handed out by great blue Herons looking to explore Shallow Fish Theory in their home pondsThe technocrat -poet, Jaundice the Clown, was at-large and timing his next scheme at renaming certain Basque districts of the Pyranese after obscured microprocessor codenames. He loomed over his radio, whispering " My beard's on fire!" Beardly words flew across Europe I'm a flocculant hyperwarp. The mandolin and banjophiles woke from their sentluplate bunks and started to go into labor pangs and Harano. Mullets melted and the clowns work had reached the most bearded of beardless folkies. In Great Britain, a pensive Marcus Mumford reeled in pain from these consternation broadcasts, already drunk on freon and lost dreams wrote some new dolorous notes upon a Manchesterian memo pad " Visit me in prison, agent Mulder..." It began. He felt his own throat close up and Waitsify before his very suprise. "Audio hostem!" Cried Mumford. The clown was winning. No one channels melancholy like his in ordinary doses. Mumford had now digi-volved into something newer and more formidible. This didn't stop his agent from pitching his somber stories in the form of cartoon mice experiencing ribald adventures with expiremental power tools bickering over NASCAR averages and neckbeard size. Folk band agents everywhere started selling out their beloved banjoists and sitar freaks. Who would save folk rock?
Jaundice harangued more words into his shortbread radio. This time from the Denny's Grimmoire of What to Never Conjure While Deepgfrying Chicken.
"Melanie waits for tonight's seal blubber. "
"Vladimir's dimebag is full of quantum sneezes."
Sea kaiju rose for work at the creameries. Posh little dogs filed for their owners bankruptcy overcome with canine guilt. VCRs set themselves to the proper time.
The weft of time and space was beginning to puncture. Jaundice was on a roll. The fennecs and Boyle were simmering in some sun palace where giant bees go to die.
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The clown then picked up an Asturian sheep and read aloud its RFID code, as all clowns can. This however is explicitly banned by most circuses. Jaundice crossed the spangled bunting into evil clorophoplex. This made the moon itself shudder and begin her menstural cycle.
These moonquakes disturbed the charnal pyramid of Richard M. Nixon. Groans and shrieks reported through every crater as cobalt-lunar phantoms wheeled above the undead president's newsprint sarcophagus. Coconut milk began to serpent from the lid. Curled fingers began to lift asunder it's carapace. He had been freed by his 1,000 year incarceration on the moon, it was time for him to re- conquer earth.
Unaffected earthlings continued their day.Handsome Polish youth subsidized Harlem today as onyx smugglers attempted to dismantle the 5th avenue Macy's escalator installation for the promise of Kim Jong Un's shiny charizard booster pack. The gloom was visible even when Wes Anderson's physician broke ranks and spoon fed cowboy Curtis. Bob Marley's vampiric cousin, Nester Wilkes Booth Guthrie married a baronness of Mayberry and the TV guide was never again trusted. All was normal for now.
From his vampiring days, Nixon knew America couldn't stand without lies and cows blood. Heaps!" Chortled Nixon, slowly reviving himself on an injection caddy of Quaker vapors and moist toilettes. Just look at what that irascable Boyle has done to Phillip Glass! The former president averted attention to Sgt. Phillip Glass' mismanaged hair, suggesting foul play on the dance floor. "Damn ataxic jews" he demurred "I'll rue the day I let Rabbi Solomon Grundy operate the baby naming facility at Quantico." Nixon waved his arms forming the Masonic sign of attack upon Washington.
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A roseate vortex opened upon Memorial avenue. What shot through came hipster alpacas and llamas blasting into cars and statuary. Spitting and emittibg llamic screams and sarcastic scoffing at those unable to grow their own goddamned scarves.
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