JAZZ ROCK
The cry of a trumpet: ‘I beseech you to go JAZZ’, it says
and the spiky tail rocker transforms into a giant, pubic fuzz ball.
‘You is scrambling my brain in pussy weed, my horny friend,’
says the rocker.
The jazzster keeps blowing those difficult notes and the
shaggy rocker rolls off, all hairy biker and tumble thatch.
‘Look at her go,’ croons the trumpet, suddenly sad and slow.
‘She’s got a bearded mass and a furry ass!’
‘Not she, I’m he,’ says the rocking fur ball, spitting
hairs. ‘Just stop the jazz!’
And the horn is done.
