Call me 'Two Rabbits.' And call on 'the One.'

Have you ever boarded a bus and spotted a child who had antlers where his eyes were supposed to be? And, while on that same bus, have you ever witnessed the operator run down a man whose body completely exploded, resulting in a rain of pecans for miles around? Have you ever observed a gentleman with chin implants and painted-on eyebrows, sporting an ultra-fashionable glass shirt, ogling you in deep perversion- sweaty upper-lip and palms, horror's erection- as you were leaving your office, still caked in marmoset afterbirth? Well, if so- it sounds like you have been in the big city a bit too long.

At Camp Lady Puma we allow our followers to re-harness the spirit of the ejaculating baboon. Come to the light center and enjoy our spiral pyramid sound chamber- scale Porcupine Mountain, where one may encounter loons, wolves, ospreys, otters and eagles. Experience vibrational shifts- witness bestial hierogamous rites. Your mentor, the Hawk of Light, is a master of Biokinesiology, Reflexology and Body Electronics. He is telepathic, psychic, clairaudient, clairvoyant, clairsentient, clairhuxtable. Under her guidance you shall become quasi-conductive, fluidly erratic, orally fixated, ultra-translucent, semi-tumescent, and obscurely gendered as well.

Ever since my indoctrination into the Hawk of Light's teachings I Two Rabbits (formerly Enrico Calamari, a normal, working-class stiff much like yourself) have given off the most soothing vibrations. The birds- all kinds of birds- starlings, sparrows, gulls, swallows- you name them- they stroll up to me in the streets. They do not fear my presence- we communicate with one another. It is deeply spiritual. The teacher has opened my eyes to the One- that's right, the Blue Buddha- and now butterflies love my scent, and I never have to wear one of those exoskeleton t-shirts to create a discourse on biological subversion. For I am at peace with all of creation.

So come on down to Camp Lady Puma and forget about all those cross-eyed mutants leering at you in the streets- those painful, inevitably oncoming pigeon lung deaths. Those Nissan Altimas with the Tasmanian devil seat covers. Redeem yourself in the precious blood of Christ- though without all of that ridiculous religiosity. You will be glad you did.

All's I am saying is give peace a chance dickholes.

OK- love Danny.