Obtain the number you were destined to receive; the telephone line is about to open. The electric buzz is on standby as your eardrums anticipate that little bit of good old anonymity they've been waiting for so patiently. Give them the change they deserve. There is no fee for your extra baggage.
The current is about to pea through from your hair follicles down to your mandible, from your cellphone down to your coccyx. You can feel the drops of funk sprayed onto your sunglasses from the rotary fan servicing the surveillance smart phone society. You're embarrassed because you want to smile. but if you do you would be scrutinized. because your pants were a little too stylish. Simple Solution: let your face slide down to your chest so your nipples can see thru your eye holes, and your sensory sockets can be free of restraint. reveling in a visuality so intense your mind will be able to crush your hand into glistening sand particles. This ain't no Rococo Joe. Dirty Funk is a show, a premise, and a cliff to hang from--it brings home the soup cans when you can't get out of bed.
So take off your shoes. slide down the hall. and thank your socks for providing the entertainment. Peel your kimchee cabbage leaf by leaf; you will be crying tears of joy. Dirty Funk brings together individuals in pure unattended brainwave pattems, occupying unheard of tessellated spaces for your mind to compute and reboot. So high you can't get over it, so low you can't get under it like a good neighbor. Dirty Funk is there. Take off your thigh bone and connect it to your intellect - you'll need the extra iron and calcium. You push the button and we'll do the rest.