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Gwar
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Je M'appelle J. Cousteau
I was there at the cattle fair, where
lump fairies swear at glories far be-
yond the fabric that she wears. He said
'Do ya wanna chair?' I'd join him any-
where! A hole in the ground, in this
theatre I found J.C.'s infernal horde--
they caper, they banter, forming human
pyramids, all to please--their infernal
Lord...Whoa! His name is J. Cousteau!!!
A pussy and I know you know!! I know
you know, and there he goes. He goes and
grows, on gosh, he knows--Aboard the
Calypso!! The foam beside, and a burly
sea to ride, all spell goodness for the
master of the whirling pimple tides.
He tried and fried until the rusted
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hinges sighed, and then he stepped
inside! He found her there, swimming
in her seaweed hair, looking vaguely
like a lover who has hung herself with
underwear--Phosphorescent green and
the sex-act made obscene, in Jacques
galleon of hatred--This wrinkled French-
man is a living god!!!
Cousteau, you know, where the dying
dolphins go, and the wasteland ever growing,
never slowing till it's far below--Put it
on your T.V. show--and let the humans
know!!!
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