“Hey Mickey”!

Channeling the music as inspiration instead of irritation, she starts…

Ketchup Tom thinks he has an easy trade with me. Not so much. I’m only here because of the typewriter. And the drums — I wish to play with him later on at least in *that* way. Tee hee. I laugh like a slut but I’m not. I talk and walk trash but I’m not. Sometimes I write science fiction when I’m in a future mode or mood. Silverberg went over Pork Chop Hill; didn’t make it back. The war took a lot of us. I don’t have to remind the reader about that. Threatened to turn civilization back to the Monkeys, pheh. Civilization Phaze III we could call it in Zappa-speak, if it even gets that far. Monkeys use bones for drumming after all. And how often do bones turn into starships? I should know all about it. Because I was in that one. Because… I am Frank’s long lost sister’s father’s granddaughter. Not Moon: Starr. Because I will be one. I am destined to be one, born to be one. A Starr is Born.

Mickey, put down your sticks and sit back and listen to what I’m saying while I dance on your Head. I’m speaking to you directly.