—this is in response to your recent complaint about our librarian’s treatment of your son Mouse Mousie or whatever alias you currently got him using—he’s nothing but a stick-faced mole of a hellraiser; him and that pal of his—Rat, I think it was? Mouse, Rat, Rat, Mouse, no after a while they merged into one somehow. One great problem for me—one great problem for the patrons of the library—one great problem for the entire library system—legendary in their snot-caked red raw howling blathering yelling screaming superindifference to everyone else—like the whole planet revolved about them—the way the planet that spawned them is doomed to circle in chains forever about the big fat overheated and overestimated big fat squirt-ass of a Mothersun. 

I would probably have less disruption to my supposedly calm cool day to day life which is why I got into this field to begin with, if they stripped nude in my library but just sat quiet heads thrust deep in their respective computer screens their privates hidden in their fat tubular roundy-round fleshfolds and their hands buried in the dark somewhere thereabouts doing the unthinkable at least no one would have to hear that at least nobody would have their deep thought-trains burst and  ripped and severed over and over by the bleating of your undisciplined thoughtless crushing bore of a Rat or a Mouse or a Mouse or  a Rat or whatever they merge in my face anyway into one quick downzip of a couple of dozen fuck the rules ass pimping hoodlums! 

No rules in the animal kingdom, you know, Miss Mousemother. They can lick themselves in the animal kingdom you know Miss Mousemother and that’s exactly what your phony son and his helped do to each other all day every day. We had to dumpster the chairs they sat at because I did not doubt that some of the hours they did sit quietly, heaven forbid, they may have done this or that nasty and use your imagination Miss Mousemother. Negative Rat-lady queen of all bass lines including one of the most eloquent found in the variations, to which Bach added chromatic intervals which provided tonal shadings; and as you also are main patron-saint of each and every fecal impaction human dog hippo or otherwise, get this and see it is the most final—this plot to self-enrich your gang most masturbatorily, for the consummation of which you called  me this day—you’re not their Mother you’re probably just some collegepal slut-bitch in on the plot—

yeah I know I know, the plot; the final insult being that your rockyheaded supposed son got down and jackhammered his head repeatedly into my floor yes my floor not your floor or their floor but my floor—and then got himself swept to the hospital for phony treatment—I cannot imagine how much you are paying the doctors and nurses there to diagnose a nonexistent problem—my God what’s this world coming to—the word professional means nothing any more

—I ought to quit my job unbank my cash-nest and lock into my one-roomer and hermit yes hermit my time away so I don’t have to deal with such as your so-called boy or you, you little slut  of a bitchface if that’s what you call yourself—yah I bet you do because inside yourself you know what you are—and I could bonbon my way out  to eternity; but tell me yonder slappy-slutgirl—

I ask you and the RatMouse evil twinboys are you really going to sue me and the system? Are you really really going to eh? Are you are you because if you dare you will at first see from your illusion of a safe calm sandbeach just the line of horizon—then after some hours a trail of smoky brownwisps will start curling up; then after some more hours a forbidding grey foretop will appear coming—then a battleship will form, mount over the horizonhump, and you will just go all agape—you may even layback and feast down a big sleepypicnic of a lunch while observing this anomaly like it’s just the start of a big parade—every other time you have basked at this beach it’s just been swimmers in sweetwaves but this time why a warship—a terrible trojanesque warship stuffed half with lawyers and half with well-thought-out briefs no not that kind the legal kind

—including that wondrous canonic variation in four-four time, which Kenneth Gilbert saw as an allemande despite its lack of anacrusis--and half with motions; rotary motions turning in a circle; linear motion  moving in a straight line; reciprocating motion moving backwards and forwards in a straight line; and oscillating motion swinging from side to side back to front top to bottom east to west north to south and again over again yah and; when you are all hypnotized by this transformation of normal life to abnormally entranced, the battleship will ground, burst as a classically woven straw piñata, and you will be buried in paperwork that you cannot burn away because we will have your oxygen and you and that RatBoy cum Mouseman buried, so—the message is don’t fuck with the regional library system no not the regional library system we are Flush with money and not the doggy kind doggy kind doggy kind no. If you don’t get that then go look it up, stupid. Good day sir or whichever you crappy diss’ of a mothering p—<end voicemail>