Bobby's Basement

There's an Indian man
In Bobby's basement
That's reading palms
For a dollar
Or a beer
Whatever you have on hand

There's a psychic as well
But all she keeps saying is--

'It's going to rain.'

--And it does

It pours
It downpours
It floods the streets
But not Bobby's basement

So we all run down the stairs
Into the coolness of the exposed cement
And sit in a circle on the floor
Watching the weather channel
On his black and white tv

Until he gets tired of weather
And puts on DVD's of 'Taxi'
And if you don't like 'Taxi'
He says--

'Take a f**king hike. Who the f**k doesn't like "Taxi?"'

There's a wallaby in Bobby's basement
That we've named Consuela
Because he says he got her in Espana
On his trip around the world
Which lasted a week and a half
Until he got food poisoning in Barcelona
And in a state of delirium
Kidnapped Consuela from a local zoo
Then somehow managed to smuggle her
Into this country
And his basement

We watch her hop around
While the Indian man
Tries to catch her
So he can read her paws
And the psychic looks at her
And says--

'It's going to rain, Consuela. It's going to rain.'

There's a corner
Where Jad sits with Tori
And they make out
While we watch
Unabashedly
Because f**k them
They don't care

They don't care that we're single
They don't care that we're hungry
For the saliva of another
Rolling around in our mouths
While hands clasp at waistlines
And breath is stolen
With each exhale

They make out
And we critique
As if we're watching a movie
A really monotonous movie
And we say--

'Look at how he doesn't know what to do with his left hand.'
'Look at how she won't let him touch her leg. Geez, it's just a f**king leg.'
'Look at how he's kind of crying.'
'Look at how she's running the whole show.'
'Look at how they look like they're eating each other.'

We eat chips and salsa
We eat popcorn
We eat candy canes
We eat easter chocolate
We eat peanut butter cups
We eat pizza (delivery, not D-whatever-the-f**k)
We eat ham slices
We eat raw onions
We eat cabbage soup
We eat crap

And
We
Love
It

We play games
We strip and dance
Like strippers
Looking like idiots
And christen ourselves
With brilliant stripper names

'I'm Henny Penny!'
'I'm Mona Lisa!'
'I'm Gretchen Mol!'
'I'm Felicia BoBeesha!'
'I'm Joan Van Ark!'

We play Dare or Dare
Where all the dares involve kissing
We kiss each other
We kiss best friends
We kiss best friends girlfriends
We kiss members of the opposite sex

Likewise, members of the same sex

We kiss and laugh
Kiss and laugh
Until we're all roaring
With each kiss
A burst of laughter
At how funny it feels
To kiss someone
For the fun of it
Just for the fun of it

We roll around on the cool cement
We wear bathing suits
We wear togas
We wear old Halloween costumes
We wear wigs

Bobby gets Richardson to play his guitar
And the Indian man leads us in a rousing rendition
Of 'Joy to the World'

'Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea!'

The Indian man reads the palm
Of Shelly Ribbler
And tells her
That her first child
Will be a genius
And that her second child
Will invent a new condiment
That will resemble ketchup
But be far more successful

Shelly seems to like this idea
And calls her boyfriend
To tell him the good news
And that she's already pregnant
With the genius

Outside the water rushes by
The windows are so high up
We can't see the rivers
Surrounding Bobby's house
But we put on our floaties
All the same

We put coins in the jukebox
And when the Hully Gully comes on
We pretend we know how to do it
Even though we don't

The psychic knows it
But she won't teach us
She's hiding underneath the stairs
Saying--

'It's going to rain. It's going to rain.'

The kiddie pool near the washer/dryer
Is filled with grape kool-aid
And when we want to be purple
We jump in and splash around
Making ourselves look
Different shades of eggplant

There are vines on the walls
The plants have flowers
That open up and release different fragrances
That we lap up our nostrils
Like horses at a trough

Smells like apricots
Smells like rubbing alcohol
Smells like tangerines
Smells like new car
Smells like strawberries
Smells like tofu

Bobby puts a crown on his head
A crown made up of newspaper clippings
Reviews of movies he didn't like
Fake bird feathers
And a pail for little kids
To use at the beach

He calls himself our Dionysus
And we bow down to him
As the Indian man
Begins to sing again

This time it's 'American Pie'

That's when we hear the door open
That's when the water comes creeping down the stairs
Slower, much slower, than you'd think
And we hear the psychic say--

'I told you...I told you...'

And it starts to rain