red Wrote:
Why would I bullshit you about PBS?
I like to look out the window
when I have to defecate
I get all introspective
I start to speculate
My entire body shudders
standing at the pane
What I call a PBS mood
I hold those fuckers to blame
I sent them my demo-reel
they said I had too much hair
and my sweaters weren't cardigan enough
and so I went to see them there
In the lobby I paused and gazed
at the waiting room TV
The holographic image of Murphy Brown
talking directly to me
That dame is fuckin creepy
I get chilled every time I see her
In those Sprint commercials
with no one else will she appear
they have to shoot her separately
in a hermetically sealed room
with a remote controlled camera
and stainless steel, saran-wrapped boom
I turn to the PBS Receptionist
and articulate my rage
I speculate on the awkward fit
of my knuckle in Murphy Brown's rib cage
before she can react and buzz
whatever passes for PBS security
I run screaming past her tiny booth
and begin the hunt for Murphy
down the corridor with my new demo-reel
actually a vinyl top from a bar stool
I slink past studio A, programming,
VTR and the secretarial pool
I gayly chortle and whisper her name
and decree that she will soon
appear with me personally in an original spot
a 30 second pitch from my bathrooom
I prop open the elevator door
with the mailroom clerk's head
I consider taking his haggar slacks
I am up through the trapdoor instead
with my magic vinyl reel in hand
I scale the well-oiled cable
I can almost smell that Murphy Brown now
a mixture of sweat, oxide and horse stable
It's taking all my strength
to keep from soiling my best pants
then suddenly, up above
I see her in the distance
I can hear the PBS hoardes now
closing in from below
I decide it's time to release the load
that i have been keeping in tow
I barely have my pants down
and the squishy hot dogs begin to flow.
But these rent-a-cops are shrewd
and mere scat cannot deter them
they give chase as I reach the nineth floor
I am so close now to that sweet hen
She slips in the doors above at level twelve
I cut in below and take the stairwell
I reach the twelfth with no time to spare
I hear the PBS boys curse and yell
And there she be, in the copy room
Slipping into the mainframe via a hidden door
The PBS posse follows me directly behind her
there had to be fucking 5 of them, or more
I lost them in the Power circuit
and there was Murphy, void of body and hands
a chilling spectre of one's and oh's, she was
hawking mobile services and long distance savings plans
I challenged her to space invaders
and she beat me into the ground
when I jammed my demo-reel into her algorhythm
she made a satisfying 'beep' sound
And the boys from security
were marooned in the LAN
I escaped with the mail clerk's dockers
and a new sprint savings plan.