Yes, it’s Friday. Not just Friday: it’s Bloated Gut Friday.
By now, the malls are already packed with frenzied, sweaty consumers. Considering that many of them are digesting bellies full of turkey, candied yams, pumpkin pie, and Gawd knows what else, it’s a good day to stay away. For that matter, it’s a bad day to be a midget in a department store elevator.
But let us not think upon such crude and earthy matters. No, let us contemplate the fine arts, specifically that most ethereal and sublime of the arts, Music.
Aw, fuck it. Let’s just listen to whatever shit Elisson’s Little White Choon-Box is playing. Here ya go:
By now, the malls are already packed with frenzied, sweaty consumers. Considering that many of them are digesting bellies full of turkey, candied yams, pumpkin pie, and Gawd knows what else, it’s a good day to stay away. For that matter, it’s a bad day to be a midget in a department store elevator.
But let us not think upon such crude and earthy matters. No, let us contemplate the fine arts, specifically that most ethereal and sublime of the arts, Music.
Aw, fuck it. Let’s just listen to whatever shit Elisson’s Little White Choon-Box is playing. Here ya go:
- Cours d’Amours - In Trutina - Christian Thielemann, Orff: Carmina Burana
- Revolution 9 - The Beatles
- The Blimp (mousetrapreplica) - Captain Beefheart
Master, master
This is recorded thru a fly’s ear
’N’ you have t’ have a fly’s eye t’ see it
It’s the thing that’s gonna make Captain Beefheart
And his Magic Band fat
Frank it’s the big hit
It’s the blimp
It’s the blimp, Frankie
It’s the blimp
When I see you floatin’ down the gutter
I’ll give you a bottle o’ wine
Put me on the white hook
Back in the fat rack
Shadrach ee shack
The sumptin’ hoop, the sumptin’ hoop
The blimp, the blimp
The drazy hoops, the drazy hoops
They’re camp, they’re camp
Tits, tits, the blimp, the blimp
The mother ship, the mother ship
The brothers hid under their hood
From the blimp, the blimp
Children, stop yer nursin’ unless yer renderin’ fun
The mother ship, the mother ship
The mother ship’s the one
The blimp, the blimp
The tapes a trip it’s a trailin’ tail
It’s traipsin’ along behind the blimp, the blimp
The nose has a crimp
The nose is the blimp, the blimp!
It blows the air, the snoot isn’t fair
Look up in the sky, there’s a dirigible there!
The drazy hoops whir
You can see them just as they were
All the people stir
’N’ the girls’ knees tremble
’N’ run ’n’ wave their hands
’N’ run their hands over the blimp, the blimp
Daughter don’t you dare
Oh momma, who cares?
It’s the blimp, it’s the blimp! - Vega-Tables - Brian Wilson
- Interlude - Matisyahu
- Razor Boy - Steely Dan
- Honey Pie - The Beatles
- You Know What You Could Be - The Incredible String Band
- Old Master Painter/You Are My Sunshine - Brian Wilson
- Another Girl - The Beatles
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