"You are going to have to clean up all that canned jazz you spilled there".
Mark said that with a friendly crackle in his voice. He sounded as if he were taking in air as he puckered, his jowls inverted to crowd the inside of his mouth with the taste of a decade's worth of Tums consumption.
"Jazz doesn't come in cans" Marvin replied, " it comes in raunch 8mm porn one reelers from Hypno Sexism"
"Ya mean all that goony rock and funk wah wah bloviation while some faded tri color malfeasance happened in all it's flickering grossness against the off white wall of your brother's Ocean Beach apartment?"
"Yeah, brother, the one that was at the end of the Street, hanging over the eroding cliff that promised a dramatic death for the residents, and secure spot on Channel 8 news with Raf Algren drinking some rude java from a Flintstones jelly glass?"
"Yeah, but not Raf. That would be Harold Keen, who couldn't grasp the zeitgeist if it made a nest in his pants. "
"Anyway , clean up all that canned spode you spilled there."
That's not my spode at all. I'm a JOE PASS kind of guy."
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