No One Expected The Hillbilly Virus To Be Cured By the Beatniks.
A seasoned and well-reasoned Beatnik happened upon what turns out to be the cure for the Hillbilly Virus. Just as simple as that. It was totally random, totally unintentional, whimsey and impulse. Fate slapped her lips around the siphon hose and pulled back a mouthful of fumes just in time to contaminate the House In Town with the exhalations.
Beatnik, name of Flappy Jo-Jo, happened to step into a tank of water while going to the Pom-Pom Club in order to take a leak out back. Simultaneously he coughed in my mother's hair, swallowed a mouthful of vinegar, and scraped his head on a doorframe. I will try and hold myself in line. I am trying to memorize this small issue so that I can go out in the world and explain how to beat the virus. The hillbilly in question (Flappy) slept for a good three hours and then awoke with the words of Ferhinghetti dousing the fires on your brain and mine and everyone else within earshot.
First act was to fix the family - and not to mess with the ones who had died. Once your family & friends are brought back, go forth into the world and multiply. And by that I mean a bunch more 45s in a wire rack, stuff like that. If it makes no sense to you now, reading this - then you must still have the Virus or its lingering after affects. Go ahead now, go to bed and plate glass the dog's red hip with a new staple runner and patterns.
You'll know how to proceed, where others have failed.
