As promised, the Kreation Korner is proud to present the first of many new entries kreated during and inspired by our sacred sojourn into the wild. But first, a cursory warning: the discoveries we have made will undoubtedly be disturbing to some. Others may not even see the kreations plainly presented in front of them because those very kreations are entirely contradictory to their own safe, stale viewpoints. But for those who can appreciate our revelations, bask in the glory of their inexorable truth. The first entry comes from Percy Stankowski, whose usual dedication to the moving image was shaken through the course of our quest. During his personal turmoil, he decided to use the written word, simple but powerful, to express himself.
Yeah. Give me something to drink.
I had been stuck in this goddamn desert for forty days. Or forty years. It's hard to tell time once the radiation's turned your brain to low-fat cherry Jell-O.
Give me something to drink.
I repeated myself to the grotesque baby-man standing in front of me. His skin reminded me of tapioca pudding. I hate tapioca.
I'm thirsty, give me a fucking drink.
I was getting impatient. Delirium had set in and I was thirsty enough to drink my own piss. Don't think I hadn't tried.
The tapioca man held up a cardboard cup named Pepsi. It said so on the cup.
I want Coke. Fuck off.
The tapioca baby-man died of lupus and I continued on, in search of more lies.