In honor of the passing of my friend, I am republishing my Joe posts
These are excerpts from “News is Entertainment and Entertainment is Work,” which was built out of email exchanges with my friends, including Joe.
Oh, man — “Segway.” Jesus. Joe, tell them your know how to “rite” like “kreyzee” “cuhz” “U” “A” “D” “baughme.” And explain to them that you do not want to have to jump up with them merely because you have been slamming and jamming on their old ladies’ funks. Instead perhaps you could all go out and catch some jumpies. Word to the mother. Man, I’d love to see Joe’s script for a 30 minute teen show set in an SF club. I imagine there would be robots . . .
I don’t think there’s any need to book a room. If I get a message back saying: Joe is creep, no Joe, then we will look for the Do-You-Got-Five-Dollars-For-Gas-For-My-Car-I-Godda-Get-To-Gilroy-Man-My-Fuckin-Cousin-Was-Subos’ta-Put-Gas-In-Man-Phew-Wait-Til-I-See-That-Mutherfuckr-Again-I’ll-Fuckin-Kick-His-Ass Motel in downtown Boiling. Until then, presume a nestling into the sneaky sheets of downtown Kangauterus Inn . . .
We have lost the acoustic cheese boots (and the anal jammies). Here are all extant boot lines. And here is the reconstitution of the lost ‘bishop’ poem, perhaps a template for your boots. Pay particular attention to Joe’s “your smoking TV shoes and/Hard spun chocolate bonnet frighten the boiling dirt.” . . .
You sicken me. I ate railroad ties encrusted with Cajun spices with S., Joe and S. The river lurked like a pantless deacon in the alder brake. Albumen. I genuinely like it.