I like to imagine Leadbelly’s ghost, drifting down from music heaven to check out an old favorite venue, and finding himself at a Fuck Buttons show. He sees these two hipsters standing across from each other, swaying rhythmically as they twist knobs on plastic boxes and sing into voice modulators. The look on his face is fantastic. It tickles me to think that someday, in our collective dotage, we’ll all find the world just as incomprehensible.
“It doesn’t work!” I yell at the phone.
“Just tug the clicker-skunk, grandpa, god.”
“I AM tugging the skunk,” I scream.
“Well, did you twist the tail?”
“AHHH! It’s spraying everywhere!” I cry.
“And? Did the channel change?”
“Oh…” I sob, hugging the squirming, spraying animal tight to my chest, “Yes, it changed…”
“What will become of us, will we evolve?”