My favorite text from the Dixon Place show…

Does anyone know whether penile queefs are even possible? This fragment of a “letter” by Jimmy that I performed for that show at Dixon Place for Little Theatre suggests that they are. I’m fond of this passage, regardless:

“…I shit you not, the deep tones Mara blew out of my rod were didgereedoo-ish and the rhythm of the suck, Yakshagana. The phrases expressed through penile queefs were time-stretched pitch-shifters with queasy pockets of delay, and pregnant drop-outs that Mallarmè would have commended.’

“I always wanted to amount to something without having to work at it, and a lot of people ask me if I’m a musician, with my wicked style… especially since I’ve been rocking that pair of Sketchers I took off Herbie, after they cut the rope and waited for the medical examiner to arrive. ‘We could record this stuff!’ I hollered.  ‘We could be heroes!’ I whined. The rhythm shifted, became riddlingly cock-ophonous, and Mara’s eyes bulged as she strained to look up. I was wilting. I def shouldn’t have approached her with this goldmine opportunity at that moment but we’d talk later… though she’d have to get her teeth fixed if we were gonna take it to the next level… Dutifully, I held her ponytail like it was a rein, and started pistoning in and out of her word-hole. ‘Yah! Yah! Yah!!! Now Git!’ I cried. Perplexingly, Mara seemed to glare at me, but my bruiser perked up with the new beat I meated out. Shit, my dirty tube sock della warmed vaseline sure never felt this good.” 2/15/12

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