The Kansas City Amitabha Memorial Park is overflowing with blood. Giant spinning Eyes of Providence descended upon the Missouri side of the metropolis, I pointed it out and they hung me upside-down.
Snakes on a plane! My body was eventually retrieved from a Home Depot service elevator that connected to the underworld, that high-pressure subterranea that connects to Shanghai, or whatever. Tripped over a concrete wall and broke several legs on the way home again, then we took acid at the state law school.
Giant snakes crawled out of the lawns. It this still Kansas City Amitabha Memorial Park, you asked? No I replied, I’m pretty sure this is just hell.
After that you socialized with a smart black professor while I printed out reams of, something, some really long thing that needed a binder to even sensibly organize it and was probably hand-formatted in LaTeX.
Now we’re stuck in some sort of cycle because the acid has long worn off and snakes keep falling out of your eyes. I meet your mom and she has cancer and looks like that old lady who was just released on probation after belonging to the Manson Family. I offer her chocolate, she said she loves me.
I have never met this woman before. Fucking nagas.