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This writing was accepted for publication
in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of
cc&d (v233) (the June 2012 Issue -
the 19 year anniversary issue)

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Open Wounds


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Everybody wears a suit & tie except

Fritz Hamilton

    Everybody wears a suit & tie except me, the headless kangaroo, & the naked ho who roams about offering herself to the important suits & ties. I am in my usual attire of coveralls, dirty shirt, & smelly socks. I roam through the party with my glass of hemlock, & everybody but the headless kangaroo holds me in disdain, as if I’d sneaked into the wrong party, which, of course, I have. I had intended to go to the state madhouse in time for dinner, but instead I’m in this party for the filthy rich. I expect to see Michelle Bachman, but maybe she’s waiting for the hundred thousand dollars of farm subsidies she says she doesn’t get in her great Republican political farce to get nominated for president, as Rick Perry, the political farce, is hard on her Right Wing heels. I walk through the party, carrying my hemlock cocktail & nodding to the suits & ties who hate me & sit down on a sofa with the headless kangaroo. I tell him I’m Fred Hammy & shake his foot. I ask him how he hopped the party, & he tells me he was shipped in a box from Australia, & they’d soon make kangaroo burgers of him for the suits & ties. We laugh because it’s as funny as everything else.
    “Why’d they cut off your head?” I ask.
    “So I could fit in the box,” he answers through the pain in his neck.
    I take a sip of hemlock, so I can perish like Socrates. Aristophanes is taking notes in the corner. Plato is passed out under the table. Hitler is revving it up in the garage.
    I find the kangaroo’s head in a plate of strawberries & screw it back on. The kangaroo thanks me & spits blood in my eye.
    The suits & ties finish with the ho & throw her into the blaze in the fireplace. She always was hot, but this is a bit extreme. She’s Jewish, & she goes up in smoke. Hitler & his men clap & cheer, but as they scratch their clap, they mourn her. Arafat pats Hitler on the back. Michelle Bachman comes up with her farm subidy but has no idea of what’s going on. Bachman’s hubby, the shrinko, says he can make Christians out of the Nazis, which should be easy.
    I ask the kangaroo if he’s happy with his head screwed on.
    He looks around & screams.



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