Hi. It’s me again. I’m back. December 4th is the beginning of Zappadan, an exhilarating esoteric festival celebrating the role of small electrical appliances, icing anointment utensils, cream cheese, and pansexual roto plukers in the discography of Frank Zappa. And other stuff.
In our short intense lives here on this tiny little planet tumbling through the weasel dust of time and space, many of you have realized, at last, that imaginary guitar notes, and imaginary vocals, exist only in the imagination of the imaginer… and ultimately, who gives a fuck anyway…
Excussse me. We do.
So. We go back to our ugly little rooms, hang some Zappadan paraphernalia around the house, you know, like a string of toasters, or roto-plukers, cue up some Z, and quietly dream about our last guitar solo; and get thoroughly screwwwwwwwwwwwtinnizzzzed. Again and again.
As you can see, music can get you prittty fucked up; so take a tip from Joe; do like he did; hug your imaginary guitar, and get a good job; Joe did, and he’s a “happy guy,” now. . . on the day shift at the utility muffin research kitchen; where he arrogantly twists the canvas snoot of a fully-charged icing anointment utensil, and every time a muff. . . well. You know the rest.
So suck on a tall WP&LJ, and get the holiday off right by searching “Zappadan” in our archives; you’ll be glad you did.
And let the anointing begin. :—{>
*Yes, now there are two Mister Rons; the one who runs Appliantology, and the one who runs Gluttonology. Or here.
