MC Hammer VS. The Electricity Police
by Wiley Wiggins


I'm sorry, I was brushing my teeth and I couldn't hear you knocking over the tap water. have a seat. You'll have to excuse me, I'm a little out of it.

Huh? Oh no, nothing like that... My sleeping schedule is just weird.

Would you like a beer? Mind if I have one? Ah. Yes, well... that's very good, I'm happy for you.

Oh, uh. yes, I can sign for you, sure. Uhm, excuse me? Oh, no I didn't see your badge, I'm very sorry.

From the beginning?

Well, let's see... I was at the underground highschool for three weeks receiving a series of mandatory injections. They had me living in this dark abandoned classroom in the E-wing. I slept in a tent I had made from a roll-down map draped over a desk and stuffed with dirty clothes. Sometimes when I was there trying to sleep between injections I could hear people screaming in reverberating explosions of Spanish, slurred and breaking with the heavy pops of plastic chairs smashing walls and floors as they are heaved through the air. No, I don't know why, it was just like that in the E-wing.

Eventually this guy moved into the room, he was kind of pathetic and creepy, a middle aged guy I guess. He always wanted to talk to me about Bob Dylan and all this other stuff that he thought made him a beatnik or something. He was really sweaty and bald... He looked like a Jewish Hunter Thompson with no upper lip... Uhm... This junkie chick from A-wing used to come in and hang out with him, because he was always doting on her even though she obviously didn't like him. She used to play Negativland's "Nesbitt's lime soda song" over and over again and constantly show us pictures out of comic books that she wanted to get as tattoos. I hid in my tent a lot around then because they would always get loud and sloshy and she would crawl into my tent and want to show me her stupid clit ring and hit on me, but she smelled funny so I tried to stay away from her. She had some stupid made up name like "Ocean," or "Boat" or something like that. Sometimes it was ok and she'd smuggle in some whiskey and make us Irish coffee with this little Vietnamese coffee maker... Like a little campground thing, y'know. One night she kicked me out of my tent, all freaked out... I guess they had been doing junk or something and he had OD'd... He was all blue and slimy and his pants were wet because she had stuffed a bunch of packages of frozen vegetables in his underwear according to some kind of Junkie OD lore... She said she had looked for ice but it was all she could find. So we dragged this dead middle aged Jewish guy out of the room and tried to make a travois out of a desk so we could get him to the infirmary in A-wing. It was a long way to walk and we were both really freaked out. She kept talking to herself and had propped her tape-player in the dead guys stiff, hairy arms so she could listen to "Nesbitt's lime soda song" on the way there. About halfway to the infirmary I had to pee in this corridor where the fluorescent lights were busted like giant buzzing fireflies crawling on the ceilings and the floor was covered in paperwork and trash. I was pissing in this smashed water fountain covered in "DO NOT DRINK: LEAD CONTAMINATION" stickers and when I turned around she was gone, the dead guy was just lying there. I know it was wrong but I just left him there. there was this noise like a lot of people having a party or something behind one of the doors and I followed it. I opened this set of double doors and found myself in a huge auditorium filled with students chattering in threatening tones. On this big, hardwood stage, lit with gaslights, was this weird sort of game-show set up with a big video screen and these cards hanging from the ceiling with fishing-line. On the screen was a pixelated image of Bob Saggat, who was talking about executing prisoners or something and smiling really widely. These cards were rising and falling in a sort of dance and had words printed on them... I think it was some sort of educational game or something, but I couldn't really figure out what was going on. On stage a student was being castrated by this big mechanical cage that held him. I could see that he was screaming, but somehow I couldn't hear it. Bob Saggat just kept smiling. I walked up, slouched over so no one could see me and tried to find a seat. Taking a look around the place I caught the eye of somebody I knew. It was this girl I used to date, but didn't talk to any more. She looked old and tired. I got up to go talk to her, dodging paper airplanes and still trying to slouch down so no one would see me. When I got to her she gave me this really sour look and I was really taken aback. I couldn't think of anything I had done to make her mad at me. I tried to say hello but she wouldn't pay attention to me. Finally she looked over at me and told me that she was there with "Julio" and that I looked "like shit". This struck me as really odd, because she had always been a pretty laid back person who wouldn't bust out with strange stuff like that. I started to feel a little insecure about my appearance too, because I hadn't bathed or groomed myself the entire time I had been in the underground highschool and was just at that moment realizing it. My greasy hair was slicked back in a baseball cap I used to wear in Jr. high. Suddenly I had this burst of hate and gave her a slap to the face... but it was a really soft one, like a joke... I tried to laugh it off like I was just kidding around but she turned beet red and started to get up. I coughed nervously and made my way to the corner of the room.

I crouched down in a bent-up desk and covered my face with my hands, feeling very tired.

I left the auditorium, walked past these creepy, mildew smelling public baths and ambled around, trying to find a pay phone, I don't remember why. This Mexican guy walked up to me, smoking a soggy cigarette with the filter ripped off (I thought maybe it was a joint at first) and started talking about something I couldn't understand. It had something to do with a special food that they've started selling at convenience stores called, "Radio Mountain Weener Dogs"...

The point? I thought you wanted me to tell you everything... I'm not really sure why you're here sir.


Yes, MC Hammer was in the underground highschool. I saw him about a week later, smoking crack out of a light bulb with Joe Camel and Nancy Regan under the old shade tree. Come to think of it, she was eating a package of "Radio Mountain Weener Dogs" and rubbing the grease from them all over her mastectomy scar, which was bleached and textured like a glacier on a raised topography map... Kind of like the one I made my tent out of. Her eyes were glazed and she had her sky-blue rayon business suit unzipped and yanked down so she could touch herself in such an unclean way. MC Hammer would pause occasionally to make out with her, his hair glistening in the fluorescent light.

Are you sure you won't have a beer? Do you mind if I have another?

You what? the Electricity? No, I guess I haven't paid it for some time. I'm a big fan of Nikola Tesla, I thought maybe I could get it for free... Robots, y'know, robots in the underground highschool say no way down corridors electric and nude like a skinned monitor lizard.

Living and working under an open child-cage like pages from the telephone book. Some sort of experimental Nazi laundromat. Huh? No, I mean... they're building those things now. Computerized Nazi Laundromats. I'm not making it up sir. They have them in the underground highschool, if you don't believe me you can go see it for yourself. Would you like a special cheese-cracker? They're scrumptious and you're really making me feel like an errant host. I'm having a special T-shirt made for me that says, "I want". Isn't that cute?

Yeah, yeah... MC Hammer.... what, are you a fan or something? Does he still have fans in America? I heard that he had a special extra penis surgically implanted in his olfactory nerve that fires meat-poison aorta fangs to fight off laboratory-grown Swedish vampires. Remember The Swedish chef from the muppet show? That was some funny shit.

Bork! Bork! Bork!




The white rose petal face blooms to reveal uncountable sharp metal instruments. EM bubbles fizzle into life and float like fireflies stolen from a summer night and trapped in blown glass containment units piped to the floor in wormlike coils reflecting more chalk face-light. Real eyes open to the dark. Something in the icebox hissed at me. Hair on head like little pieces of cut guitar string. Oh, so lifeless!

Hail rattles down a pipe that pierces my room from roof to floor - rocksalt from a shotgun to the dry and dark basement where it will be melted by the furnace slowly breathing.

Melatonin, Champagne and your Vagina. A universe of silver. Many needles in many eyes and I remember for some reason the rock thick callouses of my mother's heels and the disgustingly tiny toenails... the smallest looked as if it could be scratched away like a tick.

Breakdancing Esperanto Cancer-Tacos: "The Best".

No, see... I made all of that up. Sorry. I want you to be my friend so I guess I was telling you what you wanted to hear. I always wanted to know a member of the Electricity Police, you know? I mean, the part about the dead Jewish guy was true, and the Bob Saggat part was mostly true, but I never saw MC Hammer or Nancy Regan... I mean, that's pretty stupid, she wouldn't hang out with someone like that and she definitely wouldn't eat "Radio Mountain Weener Dogs", or like... do creepy stuff with them. No, I got in a fight with this robot that was selling school supplies and they had me tied up in solitary confinement for the rest of the month I was there. that's why I'm a little twitchy now, see? I've been writing this thing about a giant pigeon with superpowers. It'll be great, you'll see. I'll be famous one day and there'll be big statues of me in Death Valley just like Stalin and Michael Jackson, except if any pigeons try to shit on it, I'll have special policemen that will grab the pigeons and then take big runny shits all over them. These policemen will be on laxatives all the time, just waiting to shit on birds that fuck up.

So, listen, I guess I can't really help you. You can turn off my electricity if you have to, but I wish you wouldn't... I like to masturbate to re-runs of "Too Close For Comfort"... Y'know.. the cosmic cow? I can tell this was a waste of both of our time. I'm genuinely sorry.

I mean that.