Big Pumpin’ 2: Enter The Dump

Cosmic calamities and etc etc

I first heard of The Dump from a dog named dude that lived in a tangle of bags and wires and horrible memories. He huffed gas down by the place formerly known as the city centre. Now it was just The Tangle and sure we all went there but no one wanted to but inevitably one had to and then by the by and by the way you’d end up chatting with a tumour like dog named dude who’d chew your ear off for a buck and talk it off for two dollars more and by the end of it all you’d be six bucks poorer and a lot more deaf. But this thing from someplace outside of the realm of what I’d call reality came into mind while I wiled away the hours waiting on a new pair of whatever they call shoes in a place where they’ve never seen shoes because these were the minimum necessary bits of functional material needed to refer to them as footwear that an old piece of lady was constructing for me down in The Tangle. But dude the dog told me while I waited that I needn’t of worried about footwear at all anytime soon because the big old greasy guts in the sky was set to make a great and mighty bowl of chowder outta the known universe and we was all clams and thus we’d need no shoes nor much of anything but our shells, by which he meant skin and bones and shit I guess, and even then apparently whatever they were these shells or whatever we wouldn’t need them no more. Because of the grand galactic reckoning it was gonna be all incorporeal sand and sun and sex and emotions, or so he proclaimed. Dude the dog that is. Regardless I swear I’m a goddamn bag of beans if I’m anything not goddamn clam or any bivalve at all so where the fuck do I fit in because a good chowder gets weird with folks like me in there, you know? So am I in the stew or just a bunch of atoms in the stellar wind? Regardless, I dig that it’s cool to know at least someone is out there actually making the soup. Which apparently is called The Dump. According to dude the dog. Which besides being a bit of an off putting curveball in this six dollar taradiddle is not a name for a stew I’d nosh. Or ever wanna be in. And as he tells it it indeed obligatorily includes you and I and everyone. The Dump. Man. And so it shall go and so it shall be...