How ya doin' fellas? This is your Uncle Jim speakin, guys. Now fully knowing myself as being an enhancement used as a juxtaposition adjacent to one of those other phlegm-drenched CD compositions on your local college radio station, here I am again to brighten up your night in your dormitories. You go read your lists, your lists, your numbers of who's on the charts, and see who's number one baby. Yeah, if ya know what I'm sayin. Number two's more like it, you know, bowel movements? But nonetheless, I'm takin ya on the movement of time. The movement, the battle, that's right, the battle hymn of the spare parts. The spark plugs. A history in time that lay decaying outside your viewpoint where your rearview mirror is turning cycles around the inner cerebral scum linings of the stockings hanging over Christmas bells. And Santa came down that chimney. He wasn't gonna give you nothin' until I told him "Yeah, give em a, pass em out some ginger bread, send 'em over the little red riding hood way. Skip to me lou baby, skip to me lou." You know I always wondered where Melou was. But anyway, we're talking about the battle, the battle for the soul. The finance, information, intelligence, friendships, music, noise, distractions and illusions. The pseudo-multireality. Nightmares of toxins. We've got nationalism, machismo, crime, vice, vitamins, gladiators dueling in the mind control colosseum. Scum schizo depression GUYS. They're all hyped up speedball 360-degree flips into the trapeze circus of Americana. Etcetera, fellas, et-ceter-ah. And here you are. Listen to the medley, baby, and take it on the town because me, I, I never did brown-nose nobody. And all of you out there, yeah why don't you make a little phone call into your radio talkface, scumbucket, uh skull doody, doodelee bob now, yeah. Take it on out the Dixie, way out on the Dixie GUYS. Cause we got the war fellas. It's the nonstop avalanche of the emotional holocaust. Well you can eat my holocaust, guys. You know that place where there's always a Jerry to make fun of? That's right, those dodging the identity steel b****, the breathing corpses called humans in the spectacular pinball machine sidestepping the laser display. Doin' the oddball time signatures. Give me your John Hancock, dance of the demon outcast. That's right, take it out on the stratosphere. So be it. It's the War of the World, the War to End All. That soft cigar of El Destructo, burnin' slow and ever so evil. Let's take it all out on the geography of the swastika and relax on the sofa of the genocidal opium den. You can put on that mask that we've all chosen for the opera of the psycho-suicide. That mask, we'll rip it down from the walls in a frenzy. Cause you know you gotta wear the mask, because you're scared of being left alone without one for all the world to see you as you are when the mirrors come down from the skies, GUYS, burning. And it's burning the daily raid of the interterrestrial mind. There's f****** the guided missiles and the chemical s**** fallout. You think you know all about that military hardware, don't ya fellas? Just turn that radio up, guys. We're splashing all over the bodies as we bathe in its eternal vile. We're yearning for its cleansing power in a release from the shackles of the torrential monsoon of doom. Do you feel the death fog coming in out of the ambiguous slow-mo shrapnel called Western Civilization? Well good night and sleep tight, guys. Don't open it up. You may not make it to the morning mist all right. Your Uncle Jim's got a voice better yet go for it, you'll be better off. You're ever so good, you'll feel real good, darlin'. And if you're ever so good, the sensuality of a thousand snakes will never bind you to the world. You know the source of the smile is discovered within the prison cell. Yeah you know what they say over there, they say "baby, it's either s*** on the d***, or blood on the knife." The necklace of ashes tracks the breeze to its master. Well the smoke that I produce here is among a subspecies of fog, mist, down by the dueling bog zone, right up there beyond the dial that says loudness. Turn it up. Guard the entrance to your exit. Lady you're gonna need this passage. We're gonna program your computer to wait forever, guys. Just let the industrial revolution come full circle. When I go black it's time to light up. But who's the eunuch on top of the birthday cake, fellas? Nobody knows the man in the robe. He's got the new age in a perfect perfume capsule and he just popped it in his mouth. Yeah, thank your lucky scars that we've only scratched the surface. Now! Do it! Take it away! Fellas! Alright, bring it down, don't play so g****** much new age jazz music, now bring it way down, way, way, way way down. For to go any deeper would be to witness the unattainable grandeur. It's the vice grip. You know that vice grip? That vice grip that's clamped on your skull? The vice grip that's clamped on your skull has been put on hold. Now, if you don't like it, well the cane walks by itself to frighten corporate executives. Yeah they did a little dance on the doorknob face. Yeah okay let's bring it right on up to the level of the subspecies of the crayfish. Okay the mystery behind it, it's an old hat that someone was never afraid to put on. Well you know folks, you know fellas, you know guys..... the legend says that the legends have it. Now, take it a little on the pinball dixie, doo-wah-diddy, take it now, alright, bring it on home, bring it on home to daddy. And it's beautiful. Crank it up a few notches, well no, don't blast it, alright. Break some doors down if ya got to. You gotta know which ones to bust down, because if you break into the wrong room, you've had it. You'll be doing the Cherokee Disco. You'll be just another broken record going round round, 78 speed, 45, 33, 16, 8... try going 23 speed, f**** 'em up real good. Because it's not on their groove for 49 or 69 or 86 'em. Yeah that's right, chickens and fix 'ems. If ya got the guts, it's part of the range. Home on the range. Decipher the nomenclature into a subversive, a crazy fool. Sonofabitch DeVille. That's my Cadillac baby. And I took the top off and I'm riding my Sonofabitch DeVille. And I don't think of anything in my way as being a nuisance, I'll just run 'em down. I'm on the front of all the newspapers. In the stars and on the plateaus. I'm a geographical logistics problem for that blast from the past, the good old historical concept. So here's your quiz for the day: is well-written erotic literature, is it exciting? Or is it interesting if in the right mood? Or is it good only for masturbation? Well we're gonna plaster-bation your skull all over the walls, cause I got a friend who makes fliers down at the Kinkos shop, yeah we're gonna Kinko the pinko right on up the yazoo stream, baby. Light by light, light by day. I'm in the way but not out of sight. Yeah, I was just kickin' the clock around, whose arms go separate ways, but I'm breaking down the doors to where I don't belong. Heh, now try to top that one there, Musty. That's right, try to take it on the groove bog. You ever been down that part of the way? Yeah, it's right around Shrapnelville. It's right around Shrapneltown. That's right, let's get crosseyed with 'em now. Take it all down over with the invisible Cadillac, [phone starts ringing] jump over the ghettos and smash on those tracks. We're gonna take the scrub-brush, take it on the scrub-brush sidewalk. Hold on, let me answer the phone, here just a second, keep it a-rollin. [picks up phone] Hello? Yeah, there's nobody home here. You don't like it? Spread it! Spread it with a King Imperial Margarine. Fine! Fine!! [hangs up phone] Alright, we're gonna ride off into the sunset. Let's jam that fuel tank into the gas, and let's get ready to ride off, never slow down, and the fire goes out and the bark on the trees will eat your skin alive. Yeah I saw a little corporate boy who was skinned alive, right up Yuppie-town. Skin him alive, hang him from the largest branch, a Citibank. We're gonna take him up on the tree. We're gonna take him right on up the bark-way, the George Washington Barkway, and hang him from the branch. A master charge. We're gonna take him right on down, we're gonna take him to Wells-Fargo, we're gonna take him right on over, right there in Oakwood Park. We're gonna take the 10.5 interest credit card and we're gonna focus on this. Then we're gonna see the shadow of a wall with a little kid's dream in a city whose mother is 17. How many graveyards do you call home? And can your tongue dial a telephone? I think I know why I treat you like this. Because you asked. And I deliver. Cause daybreak came and the dogs ran wild. And the women came out with their teeth well-filed. And I saw that noose around that guy from Citibank's neck. But I didn't bother to cut him down. Because I was just too busy waitin' around for my next pack of cigarettes, fellas.