so my buddy Larry emails me a couple days ago

he's a comedian, see; he sings funny songs for a living

somehow he had cajoled mtv into shooting his goddamn music video

and he wants me to come help him and be in it, right

ok so. early this morning i roll outta bed, grab my friend katie, and we get driven on over to a lot just outside the state fair.

this. is. where. the. carnies. go. to. die.

its this rundown fuckin' little house

we get there and its this dude named Ian and some old lady

ian is way cool and stuff. he puts us to work covering things in black tarp and other such weird crap

larry is not there.

we wait an hour, doing random jobs.

larry is still not there.

larry is an hour late.

katie and i discuss how much we'd love to spit on him. all of him.

finally he comes, pretending to be everybody's friend larry, the guy who slept in and made us get up at FUCKING 7 O CLOCK.

ok ok but see. there's more.

see the dude, patrick from mtv

well, he was the director of the tom green show.

so i worshipped him for the time proper

and then we dressed larry up in a fuckin' cow costume

and i swear. we were sooo much better than tom green.

this was my job:

after larry-in-cow-suit would harass the poor people, i would chase after them with waivers and try and convince them to sign them and be on mtv.

this was my job. mine all mine.

man i felt like the fucking coolest person alive.

we did that for about an hour and a half

then, larry-giant-ass-in-cow-suit decided it was time for him to take a break

patrick takes larry over across the street to the state fair to shoot some publicity shots.

larry forgets his damn cow head and guitar.

so, katie and i have to go into the section of the state fair where the carnies go to LIVE.

let me just say now that a dead carnie smells so very much better than a live one.

katie decided to put on the cow head.

katie walked through the fair with just the cow head on.

erin followed with an acoustic guitar playing the one bass line she knows, "Smooth Criminal" by Michael Jackson.

yes, the one bass line.

yeah so that was weird and we got the best looks from people ever

see, its just weird if you see someone, like, on franklin street wearing a cow head.

but at the fair.

see, the person could either be weird OR they could just be an attraction gone horribly, horribly wrong.

the looks we got. absolutely incredible.

yeah, so, patrick gets this wonderful idea and radios this to us on our ghetto-style, circa. 1972 walkie talkie...

chickens. live. multiple.

"meet me at the poultry barn at noon."

noon. poultry barn. no patrick. no larry. two girls, a cow head, a guitar, and erin's first guitar callus. forty minutes. no larry.

finally they show up. katie and erin are hot, sweaty, tired, and pissed-off.

we give them their gear. they buy us two live chickens. we carry two live chickens all over the state fair ground.

when we get back to the shoot, katie and i decide that the cardboard box in which the chickens are encaptured will simply not do.

we put them under milk crates. steve disagrees.

steve forces us to fucking build wood-and-chickenwire cages for the squawking beasts.

katie and i succeed in bleeding and smelling like bird feces.

finally this entanglement of chickenwire and shit-covered wood emerges.

we are proud. steve shuns us. we set the two encapturements onstage and laugh heartily at him.

he decrees that we move the damn birds from the milk crates into the rickety... things that we made.

guess what happened then?

ethel and fred (names devised for the dastardly scum that are our chickens) decide to make a run for it.

i got fred, but ethel flapped her was out of my grasp and started running around madly.

yeah.

and so, i chased.

madly.

someone else got 'er in the end.

we were starving. we smelled like bird shit. we were bleeding out of multiple freshly-torn orifices.

then they bought us cokes and sandwiches and told us they loved us and that we were cute little girls and sent us away back home and here i sit on my ass, once more.

the end.