I.
Once upon a drive-in theater these pink
wrinkly critters came to visit the Earth,
no flying saucers or escape pods, just a rain,
just plopping onto beds of pine needles,
you’d think it was trippy too, man, even adistance,
afloat on a raft in a lake of cerebrospinal fluid.
II.
They were, like, looking for new experiences
because that’s their foodstuffs. Got it?
III.
The critters found these pretty hilarious monkeys
on the Earth, and decided to build their homes
in their funny, empty heads, a warm place, mornings
full of fragrant amber cerumen and bloodbaths.
IV.
They found out they could shoot tentacles down
into the monkey bodies and make them do whatever
they wanted. Yippee! The critters made this thing
called a nervous system and whenever the monkeys
were lazy they only had to shoot them full of millivolts,
hey monkey, get off your damn ass, wiggle your fingers.
V.
Soon, the wrinkly pink scamps realized they could control
the monkeys even further, and make them do things that had
dick-all to do with their basic monkey needs. Mischief!
The monkey-critter units put on suits and became doctors
and lawyers. Some of them became Van Halen.
VI.
The whole thing was actually pretty fucked up.
I’d only call it symbiosis to be politically correct.
VII.
Hello. My name is Jason. I am a wrinkly amorphous
pink critter who lives in a monkey. I am afraid that my
fellow wrinkly critters have forgotten their roots. They’re
getting themselves, like, existentially confused with
the monkeys, so it’s hardly a wonder I feel so alone
and messed up and different all the time, I could just
blow myself out all over the wall. I mean it, it’s
getting pretty fucked up down here, like, help me,
Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope, take me
back to my wrinkly pink space home, a planet filled with
sandy tornadoes, blowing blebs of mercury and thoughts.