A X-mas Thank You Note
(Shouted Through Mud)

Death is where... your butt stinks!... Even twice as bad as mine... But nowhere near as bad as my poetry. You lay rotting in the grave, devoured by worms, the stench of your decay trapped in a cement box... while I dance on top, trippin' on acid, sweaty, naked, jerkin' off, and howlin' at the moon!
... Oh,... sorry Grandma.

I bet you never had visions like I do. The giant yellow-eyed spiders, the little men who visit you in the night, the pack of wild dogs raiding the kitchen, the babies that dance on the ceiling of your alcohol withdrawal delirious tremors -- They