Christopher Walken Reviews the Songs in his iPod

On my way into work today the. Gods inside of my iPod treated me, to a mix
of TUNES that made my soul. Swell up. Like a fluffy mush puff. I.

Always shuffle through my entire catalogue of 3,300 songs, on random. Random
like a blind racecar driver driving his racecar. Blindly. Through Rock and
Roll City. Let the FATES control the world inside this sleek little white
box. This uncomfortable lump of metal, which I have carried around up my
ass, for the past three and a half years.

It beats the transistor radio. IPod. No waves. Just, MUSIC. Odd.

White Rabbit, by Jefferson, Airplane 13 times in a row, on my way to work
today. Love that song. It must take up like 99 percent of my I. TUNES. I
must have, White Rabbit by Jefferson, Airplane I DON'T KNOW at least 3,257
TIMES on my, iPod.

I don't believe in. REPEAT.

I must confess to you. A small part of me was hoping to hear one of the
twelve songs, all Chipmunks' Christmas carols, that I have on my iPod other
than White Rabbit. No such luck. The fates did not deign to free those
delicious little falsettos.

I stopped a, man. On the street. Asked the fuck where the Chipmunks were.
All he had were EXCUSES. I could tell he, was lying. Signs -- a guy's got
seventeen of 'em.

Oh well. Live to fight another day. Alvin. Simon. Theodore. CHIPMUNKS.
Right.

SO, what I got was Jefferson Airplane and by the time I arrived at the
bottling plant I was so. JAZZED. I couldn't stop dancing. With everyone that
I saw.

There was this one bottler. Roy. Asked me why my EAR PHONE was coming up
through the back, back of my pants. Real heroic cocksucker. I tried to bite
his hand off at the wrist.

It wasn't until the park ranger pulled me off of him that I realized it
wasn't Roy I was biting. It was a sycamore tree. And that
I wasn't even at a bottling plant at all. I was in the middle of Yellowstone
National, PARK. All dressed up like sasquatch and scaring tourists. Busey,
Hopper and that old bull dyke who played the mobster in Goonies. I
think she's dead.

GOONIES. Ha. Right.

More next time. In which I, will hopefully, hear from everyone's favorite
TRIO of quadrapeds. If not, more WHITE Rabbit. Talk soon.