The Continuing Story of Richard Brautigan

Part One
Truman was feeding Lunchables to Laguna Lake geese when a towering Neanderthal
Slapped him with his country club cane and asked him if he’d read his daily Isaiah
Truman said, “No sir,” and was blasted like Ringo’s drum with just a dash of criticism
The Neanderthal threw Truman a haphazard Rolex before ascending into God-knows-where
But before Truman could pawn it, three beatniks nabbed Truman’s soul
Truman awoke in Bakersfield, taking hits off a lit jerky.


Part Two

Truman was eradicating the zydeco from his iPod one afternoon in Paris

When some fat-fingered book ‘legger called his unhealthy cell

And asked him if he wanted a copy of either Ecclesiastes or Fritz the Cat

Truman accepted the former

After all, he once ganked Brautigan’s razor so counterculture made him queasy

“How much will that all be?” asked Truman as Bitches Brew went to the gods

“Search your heart. There is no try,” said the book ‘legger

A genuine non-sequitur.  And during the dusk of Truman’s lunch hour, too!

Part Three

Truman used to come over to my place after M*A*S*H
In order to poke his mythologies in my neck
This was after I achieved Tommy Lee Gatz’s goals
And became the first Jew on academic probation
My folks walked out on me in order to adopt a studious refugee
Who managed to send me daily death threats on YouTube
Truman would sit at his Commodore all day, trying to persuade the moderators
That as I had written some good screenplays in ‘06
I was worth saving.

Part Four


Truman wanted to register liberal so that he could defeat the draft

But he couldn’t shit on Zionists, teetotalers, and the freedom to choose virginity

So one night in Baghdad, he decided he’d start his own battle

When the soldiers awoke, Truman declared War on Juggalos

And sat in the hot Iraqi sun as Our Troops put each other in body bags.

Part Five
Back when I was in university, a girl on Floor 9 wanted me dead
A made-up clown, she made every day look like Halloween
Every Saturday, Truman would show up at my apartment
And, having left his electroconvulsive equipment at home,
He’d tell me that life is just a cup of root beer
It’s always shorter than you wanted it to be
Might as well reap what you sow before God starts looking grim.


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