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Editor's Note: While Fuzzles, our invisible intern, was busily fulfilling his intern duties—i.e. chasing rats in the basement (good boy, Fuzzles!)—he came across the following odd bit of text, apparently written in tobacco spit on the back of an old flier for Cas Walker groceries. We have no idea what it means, but what with the drinking and dancing and astral projecting over the past few weeks (what was in that fruitcake, anyway?), we're frankly running a little short on copy. So we thought we'd pass this along to you, our readers. Maybe you can make sense of the darn thing. Apologies in advance: some portions of the passage were obscured by the ravages of time and Fuzzles' teeth (bad boy, Fuzzles!).
The Words of Knoxtradamus
And so it shall come to pass
Yeah BUDDY!
In the first palindromic year
Of the third Millennium
In the province of Knox
In the city streets and on the rooftops
In the hollers and the beer joints
Among the ol' boys and the silk stockings
A great chorus after the bowl of citrus
"Just Wait 'Til Next Year"
And also "Yew call thet football?"
And also "I'll hang up and listen to your comments"
While on the highest of the high
Levels of the building of the city
And of the county
Shall arise a great bestirring
For five of the nine are no more
And the five in their stead
Shall be not of rubber
Though neither of iron
At the east end of the hallway
The ragman shall be king
Who was before a barber
And so shall the barbers rejoice
In the halls of learning
Where Charles sits in Andrew's house
From whence the cannons roar
Shall there be calamitous confrontations
And the Universe of Knox
And the University of Knox
Shall they both be driven
Anxious with pursuit of gold
And the air shall be befouled
As the air of a great beast
Letting loose an intestinal torrent
And the people shall cough and wheeze
But even so and still
Shall there be music and rejoicing
And intoxication of body and mind
On the Square of the market
And the pink barking trees
Shall flower and bloom
And the conditioners of air
Shall once again hum
And from the villa of Nash
Shall there come tidings of woe
And the Don of the Sun
Shall be as the Don of Cervantes
And the well-bred man Phil
Shall meet the white-bread filled Van
And the contest shall range
From the East to the West
And all will be as before
And all will be changed.
Yeah BUDDY!
January 3, 2002 * Vol. 12, No. 1
© 2002 Metro Pulse
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