THIRD INTERMISSION

Please join in now with the citizens of Star Town, and all of their plush fluffy stuffed animal toys, as they sing “The Song of We Don’t Know.”

We are mass confusion

Just look at the news

We are lost inside our heads

And inside our shoes

We are lost

Like our robots

Woe is me, woe is me

Woe is me, and that makes three

We are elevators

We go up and we go down

If we knew who pressed the floors

We’d have a happy town

We are lost

Like our robots

Woe is me, woe is me

Woe is me, and that makes three

We know how to party

But that won’t pay the bills

And this shaky elevator

Means plenty drink spills

We are lost

Like our robots

Woe is me, woe is me

Woe is me, and that makes three

Intermission B

Somebody left the door open and the writer got out again and the answer is a little crazy in the head and the writer doesn’t really understand and the writer lost that printed plan or doesn’t want to see it. The writer stabbed his frontest toe and doesn’t really want you to know so he will tell rather than show and you know how that makes you frown.

The writer’s giving up the game, he doesn’t have anybody else to name for each new word is just the same as the twenty that came before it. Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll fall asleep and hope the dreams come fast and deep and that sleep mountains stay so steep he cannot sit beside them.

And he’s over the hill and the other way down, and that’s what you call it if you’re washed but not up, and what he needs is a bowl of soup so he’ll write one like that. And here’s the spoon in the same size text. Here is a bowl in the alley of cat, and here’s some more this and here’s some more that, and if you read twice your eyes will grow fast from the eggstra calorears of the verbs.

Stop him before he goes you insane, here’s another trip there’s another brain, and Cyclops can walk to war and back and if that’s what you’re reading you better start now.