Space age art brut army brat says, "Look at what's behind the mirror." His alien clothing punctuate him as an outsider. His taste is a matter of historical interest. Pages of his diary describe hi-tech terror in a dazzling display of tonal whiplash. Every word reads as if they were written fer yer eyes only. When he speaks the words are filled with a tasteful abundance of culture. Ornamental and dry. He listens to music better than you. He shops for groceries cooler than you. When he was born the nurses turned backup singers crooning "la la la" and when he dies his body will disappear in the sky. Who would we be without our fearless leaders?

ACHTUNG!: No one is coming to save you.

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