_____________________________________________________________________________ ---------------------------- I Bleed for This? ------------------------------ ------11.26.94-----------------------------------------------------#031------ Poetboy Goes to the Zoo by Snarfblat Poetboy arrived at the school with a smile on his face, for today was the day of the class field trip. They were going to the zoo. During the bus ride to the zoo, the teacher told them a few rules. "Now children, your visit to the zoo will be much more fun and educational if you follow these simple rules. One: Do not pet the animals. Two: Do not feed the animals. Three: If something says 'DO NOT TOUCH', don't FUCKING touch it!" At this point she pulled the glove off her left hand to reveal a scarred stump with the remains of two fingers dangling limply from it. When they got to the zoo, everybody except Poetboy went inside. Poetboy stayed on the bus and wrote a poem. Then he got off and looked for his class. He went into a building that looked like a zoo. Inside it, he saw long rows of cages with animals in them. Some of them were being fed by tubes because their mouths were sewn shut. Others were eating white-out with their eyes. Poetboy didn't know why there were so many rabbits in the zoo and no other animals. And he wasn't too sure if they enjoyed having their skin peeled off and being dunked in vats of perfume. He pulled out his notebook, sat down and wrote a poem. Oh, wee bunnies, how harsh is your plight! would that you could escape into the night your skin all peeled off, your mouth stapled shut needles in your eyes and a tube in your butt who will stop this mutilation? carry out your liberation? i'd love to help you, to save you all. every time i put on the damn radio there's nothing going down at all. Poetboy memorized this poem, then rolled it up and smoked it. At this point, the teacher led the rest of the class into the building full of bunnies. "Class, this is where the bad animals go. It is called the Gilette Product Testing Facility. Dangerous chemicals are poured onto their raw, exposed endoskeletons, so that the products can be made safe for humans." One little girl, named Sarah, spoke up. "Teacher, why don't they test these chemicals on people?" "Good point. Most of you are essential workers. But Poetboy over there, he's just writing poems and smoking them. He contributes nothing to the group as a whole. Let's mess him up!" The class, led by their teacher, attacked Poetboy and tied him up. Then they shot him. Then they skinned him. They drew a graph on his raw, exposed endoskeleton and numbered each sector, then poured a different toxic chemical on each one. Some of the sectors bubbled and frothed; others turned red, others black and crusty. Poetboy's tongue (Area #42) was dipped in a vat of pure, concentrated Yellow #5, which worked its way up into his mouth, spreading slowly throughout his whole body. He crumpled to the ground, a skinless jaundiced pulp. A pack of wild dogs launched themselves onto his back and bit off his hands. They ripped the muscles away from his spine, and with the help of Poeyboy's teacher, disconected it at the base of his brain and pulled it backwards. By now he was pretty dead. The last thing he was conscious of was his eyes being eaten out by newts. Then he lapsed into a pain-induced coma. His songs never again smudged the air. ============================================================================== IBFT: If we hate you, you don't deserve to know why. Information: bleed@unix.amherst.edu ftp.etext.org:/pub/Zines/IBFT The Eleventh Hour (617)696-3146 ==============================================================================