"Swine time in horsey hell. The squalor of open toes and western boots wading through a river of redemption center deposits. Stolen tongues of salvation goosed into studio slop and vice operatics. The spoils of bus stop literature, private chamber goofs, and three-dollar ballads. Spring has come for the fools, the sweet-tooths, the gamblers, the charlatans, the pissers, the chuggers, the huffers, the tossers, the gamesmen, the wallowers, the assholes, the muckers, the hoarders, and the wretches. Throw them into the barnyards, out there with the shanty boys who stare down fields in judgment, penniless and dry-eyed, trousers stained, nails blackened. Lavish them with yolks and smokes, and make them sing as bees and dogs would in chorus. Praise them with the open reels, the sick throats, the consort plunder, the charity strings, the broken horns, the frizzled cymbals. Open your pretty mouth. Hay will be yours in plenty, and oats in abundance.
