Journey to the Apocalypse North
I do not know how long I have been in the foamy farm. A day or two, perhaps. It blows like fire. I have not been adjusting to these settings, perhaps. Mr. Brownstone won’t let me hold Jeremiah, which blows. I don’t like being Krip Bloodgutter. I don’t like being Krip Bloodgutter at all.
I remember touching my friend Roger the other day. The police came to me, and asked what the fuck I had just done. I said I was just playing. So, they took me to this foamy farm in Southern California. I don’t know where I am though.
The inmates aren’t very nice here. They call me “murderer,” when I don’t know what the fuck that means. That really blows. This one guy, Eugene Jakoffsky seems to be the Wizard here. I mean that in that he told me that we can do anything here as long as we follow the rules. The Wizard seems to be a nice guy. I like his ways.
This girl who comes here sometimes, Spira Thame, is not so nice. She taunts me and calls me “Bubbleshit.” I don’t like that fucking name. I can’t wait to burst out of here. Then me and Jeremiah can have some alone time.
So, this is how it goes. I get up out of my bed which Mr. Brownstone has to take to the cleaning room for some reason. Then, the Wizard shows me the other inmates. There is Scraunch Boy, a boy of six whose parents haven’t talked with him for a few weeks, and Alan Fetus, whose arms and legs were cut off or something, I never asked. Whatever the case, Alan Fetus is always drooling and barfing. I have no idea why.
Mr. Brownstone will sometimes mention “The Boss,” who I don’t know about. I guess he’s the King of the Foamy Farm. I don’t know why someone would want to be King of the Foamy Farm. I guess that’s for me to decide.
There’s lots of other inmates. There’s Azmogis, who’s ninety-three years old and can’t remember his name. Then there’s Iggy, who isn’t really an inmate, but he’s kind of a custodian. I think that’s what he’s called. He’s a hunchback.
Popeye Squirm 
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