Galactic Pizza

I wanna know when I'm gonna get my pow-wow with the crystal shard machine elves that live in the walls of my closet. Not that I actually have a closet but regardless, there is whole multi dimensional megaplex back there full of swirling fractal reality and a couple of next level Keebler motherfuckers cooking up coincidence cakes and sugary syncronicities. Last night they were kicking up such an unholy racket that my Stevie Wonder record kept skipping and my phone was blowing up with calls from a low pressure system that wanted to come piss on the Basin. I wanna know when those shiny pricks are gonna sit down and tell me why I can't get a good slice of the live stuff and why I can eat tacos on every corner of this god forsaken grid, yet there isn't a decent sandwich shop for twenty miles. I'm not asking for some kind of Outer-Ring Stellar Subs, or Big Time Galactic Pizza, I just want a thick slice piled high with the goodies and maybe one corner deli or bodega that can throw some Boar's Head on my sangie for fucks sake. These little mojo gremlins are tinkering with my life line and you're telling me they can't maneuver me into the realm of nominal culinary competency, what am I some kind of jerk? So I think I may have no other choice than to batch up a brew of Ms. Aye and go frog swim in the kaleidescope madness in between breathes, that way i can kick these shimmery union ass clowns in their shiny Elvin asses and set the world to rights. Don't fuck with a Rhodie when he wants a square piece or deprive him of his cold cut compensation, things be gettin' heated in the multi-verse. Don't even try to pull the old "beyond my comprehension of three dimensional space and time" routine, cuz I can whoop some ass and you, my mischievous crystalline friends, are fucking with my num nums. Best rectify boys. Best. They don't call me Dynamo because I DON'T drag Old Testament ghosts through the quantum fracture in my "Return of the Jedi" wallpaper and slap them upside their glistening grey-scale approximations of anatomy. No. They Call me Dynamo cuz I'm the only motherfucker on the block who will kick down the doors of perception just to go knuckle down on some astral tricksters and boot their sorry jewel encrusted hypers-faces back to the larvae belching, insectoid mother of creation and all her panorama bubbles of shared consciousness. Takes a tribe to raise a child right? Takes an Action Jack to get some decent food around here...or so it would seem. So get on the ball you wonky star brats, I am straight starving over here and the Twinie bomb is calling my name.
Tally Ho.