Part 2

But what the hell kind of a meat loaf is this? I have been more than patient!

Jules threw What? at his opponent’s feet, and glared in a way most would find frightening, but—only to find that during his instant of passing through one through five above, and what was going to come out being simply What? Unimportant and then they put their arm up again his creator took pity and plucked him on high to its eternal bosom and, Jules, after the final ? of the tiny bark of his What? echoed to nothing, he found himself dead on the floor, with no time left to exclaim, What did I do to deserve this, over a bed of hot lava flaming bundles of superheated sticks brake for clinkering-coo and, so, he wasn’t there; there’d never been his side of the conversation, and, since his other ‘s conversation still remained having been, exactly bundles of white sticks bluop bloup bloop bloop bluip bloope the gathering crowd, who’d been listening to this for over five days (which however was only five minutes because they needed to be able to say to the policemen they’d called about the disturbance this madman speaking back into himself that it had been going on for five days) bluop bloup flaming bundles of superheated sticks brake for bloopi bloopee bluipoir bup lou loop Clinkering-coo exactly bundles called a policeman walking past with sandwich off its lunch break of white sticks blo bui loo unimportant and then they put their arm up again over a bed of hot lava bluop bup blu loo bop over a bed of and a sequence of police/policed interactions took place hot lava blip blop lup lop lp bluo blou bundles of white sticks luop loup oop op p pe boo blu blo blo flaming bundles of superheated sticks rak for bloop bluip leading to the offender being straightjacketed bluop loup oop op Clinkering-coo Exactly! bluip loope uop up bluop blou blo unimportant and then they put their arm up again bloop blui op oup loop bloop And then they put their arm up again and taken out of sight forever and, since our lord on high is merciful and loving, bluip loope blu bluop blo bl b bp ope exactly p up oop loop bluip blpe blu bp pop uip loope brake for p up oop loop bluip bloope bluop blp bp

Hot lava oo lui loop, he did what he had to do to prevent regret and depression leading to suicide or worse in the thirteen of his chosen elect, bluop loup op p ip loope over a bed of bluop blp bp b ip b bl blo bloo bluip bundles of white sticks bloope bluo blo b bluop blou blo bl flaming bundles of superheated sticks bl bloo bluop bluop blou blo bl b bl blu unimportant He issued them all goblets of the calming quaff of forgetfulness a la Hercules herself, the movie, and he led them into his next chapter where he became man and all and all, b bl blo blu bloo bluop b bl blo bloo blui bloope clinkering-coo almighty bluop blou bloo bl b But what the hell kind of a meatloaf is this Christ which story most of you have known since birth and so, I will not go farther. Like what happens when yo’ drive round-trip a hundred-fifty-seven times. Oh, ah, oops. Six, that is.

Hey listen. Hey. Listen. But what the hell kind of a meat loaf is this?

I have been more than much more than patient much more than patient!

Of any kind let alone their very own. Why?

See! For this purpose, it is wrong to refer to anything typically assigned a zip code shared or otherwise as he or she. Or to use such phrases as they’ve got their own zip code. You would say it’s got its own zip code. Or they’ve got their own zip codes. That one—the word they’ve plus the word their that they’ve both used in the phrase—is a tightrope walk. Because they’ve, or their, could apply to objects or locations, as well as to more than one human. But it’s, or its, typically leaves out humans. Sentient non-human creatures, however, may be referred to in this way regarding the assignment of zip codes to them. (note the use of them however. Son, remember, that when pressed against the wall of the hard stop the rules go out the window—or, more precisely, evaporate into invisible smoke; which in itself is a term perhaps quite meaningless ‘cause, well, my hawsers ‘n hippos, is there such a thing as invisible smoke—hey, there; Hans Zeigler back there! Back there, Hans, I gotcha! As was suspected, you do spend far too much time pretending to play rock and roll on that no-name scroll-horned cutaway Christmas

present of an electric guitar you pretend to use daily, so that Aunt Minnie, your family’s seriously unbalanced serial gifter, got you five Christmases ago, and after the unwrapping, she brandished before you a probably fake newspaper clipping, reporting on a previously fine auntie, who after spending significant money on a jazz horn of some kind for one of the hundred nephews she imagined she had, but that were all wrapped ‘round the core of her derangement into one boy; one! One boy, who—when she visited seven months down on the boys birthday, and found that without asking her or informing her ess, not anything-ing her at all about the sale of the jazz horn, due to th’ lads lack of interest, smashed upward the root of his nose, driving a dagger of cartilage into his brain, and then doing the same exact thing to herself. unimportant and then they put their arm up again Which, after local law enforcement arrived, and the whole criminal justice whirlwind up and petered out, as usual, the boys Father got life at hard labor—for it was one of those countries you know, one of those—