The New York Times reported yesterday that

The split between the human and chimpanzee lineages, a pivotal event in human evolution, may have occurred millions of years later than fossil bones suggest, and the break may not have been as clean as humans might like.

A new comparison of the human and chimp genomes suggests that after the two lineages separated, they may have begun interbreeding.

And while I know Bush-as-chimp jokes are so old hat that you haven’t heard one since you fell off your language poet, you really have to wonder…

The Dressing Room
(a flarf play)

Kent Johnson
Dressing Room Attendant

[Scene: A Target store somewhere on earth. A
newscaster with a microphone is standing next to
“Kent Johnson”]

Newscaster: The December boom is a boon for many
stores, and heavy sales are often posted across
the board. Even corporate juggernauts depend on
the sales boost from end-of-the-year holidays.

Kent Johnson, executive team leader of Hard Lines
for the Lawrence SuperTarget, has managed the “In
Season” department of the store in the past, and
he knows the amount of work required to make it
all run smoothly.

Kent Johnson : The December days are nearly
double. It’s not uncommon to do almost twice as
much business.

Newscaster: So says Johnson, a Nebraska native
and a nine-year employee of Target. When your
customer count increases from 4,000 to 8,000 per
day (as Johnson estimates it does for Target),
the logistics of maintaining high-quality service
multiply quickly.

(Enter Brianna, Lovetta, and Sheptanya with their
arms full of clothing to try on. Newscaster
approaches them with a microphone)

Ladies, what do you look for when you shop at Target?

Brianna: Hmm. Bleached light elks – with wings. Pink leotards. Horns.

Lovetta: This internality, the pattern
that is I, the agency of the self.

Sheptanya: For me, I guess… Elvis hair,
Elvis glasses… homemade capes using a material
with images of Elvis all over it…

Newscaster: Ahh…

[the women march towards the dressing room, shoving the newscaster aside]

Dressing Room Attendant: Just make sure to bring
everything back on a hanger, k? You can go right
in. It’s communal.

Lovetta: Communal. [snorts] There is
internality only with reference to the
externality. If the externality goes away, where
is the internality?

Attendant: Whatever. Just bring everything back on a hanger.

(Inside the dressing room)

Brianna: Meaning of humpy. What does humpy mean?

Sheptanya: Humpy the Dog. I don’t know what it
is about dogs humping that tickles me, but it
just does. This little Chihuahua is horny and
needs to get fixed quick.

Lovetta: Humpy shrimp. Get me my leotard,
leg warmers, and big hair wig. I’m off to the gym!

Sheptanya: There is always a tiny version of you
in a tight red leotard and horns

Lovetta: Yep, that’s what I am…humpy. And
sooo not in a sexual way. … So, not only am I
humpy, my off-kilter hips will eventually cause
me to be gimpy. Terrific!

Brianna: In a past life, Humpy was my
name. Why my owner named me so is an interesting
story as the other camels were … While my
friends were Shahrukh and Raveena, I was Humpy.

Sheptanya and Lovetta: harrumph!

(throughout the rest of the play the women try on
outfits and comment on their own and others’

Sheptanya: How does this look?

Brianna: Hmm. Make a claw hand.

Sheptanya: Like this?

Brianna: No, like this – look. The
movement is as if you were scratching you belly
in a circular fashion. The knuckles stay bent in
the same position… kind of… Full of humps or
bunches; covered with protuberances; humped…

Sheptanya: I think this makes me look like I am a punishment.

Lovetta: No, it makes you like one bad
muthafucka. How does this look on me?

Brianna: (getting up close and examining
her critically) A bra made of algae? Eww! Eww!
Dude Seriously! This ain’ta camel toe!!! It’s the
whole fuckin CAMEL FOOT!!!!!! … LOL, it’s
devouring her leotard!

Lovetta: Honey, He saw my cameltoe then
canceled his wedding day. I bet Hannibal Lecter
has the camel toe mouse pad!

Sheptanya: eww get away from me you preteen skank
eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww
eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww
eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww eww
eww eww eww

Brianna: Shush. I’m currently wearing a
beanie (sans pompom) underneath my helmet, but
sadly this makes me look even more like a
complete penis-head

Lovetta: This makes me look either a.)
retarded, or b.) like a frightened horse about to

Sheptanya: This makes me look askance at the
contemporary mythology of the potential of a
blessed and peace filled utopia under the
benevolent gaze of a mother goddess. I act
violently because I feel angry (I am in pain) and
this makes me look strong. What’s strong is my

Brianna: It’s wild how tiny this makes me
look. I’m shedding all my exhibitions.

Lovetta: Do you want my candied opinion?
Frankly, I think you look ridorkulous in that
gorilla suit.

Brianna: ‘I Spit on Your Saint-emilion
true-souled age-old fresh-watered pelican flower

Lovetta: I spit on your rudeness at the
store, at your throwing sulphur-tinted sodium
chloride mist-enshrouded fermentation tubes on
the floor

Sheptanya: I spit on your spit

Brianna: I Spit on Your Concrete
worse-bodied stomach-ache pollen-covered
wine-merry provost marshal Christ-taught
swelled-gelatin process

Sheptanya: If I spit on your food, is that annoying?

Lovetta: I Spit On Your fatal-looking brain-smoking water-cressy Robot

Brianna: I Spit On Your dull-red Foam

Lovetta: Do you mean “I spit on your soul” as an insult?

Brianna: I spit on your quasi power
Siculo-punic bull fiddle snow pigeon christian
ground I split your enormous lies I rape and ruin
your holy land …

Sheptanya: You shall cry as I spit on your cross
Bleed!!! You shall bleed for me as I tear off
your wings Scream!!! You shall scream as I slowly
crush your skull ..

Lovetta: I spit on your logic and Pseudo-angle Ku-klux appraisal ability

Sheptanya: I spit on your spam.

Brianna: I spit on your flat-cheeked
“patriotism.” It is as phony and phony gets.

Lovetta: Pshaw. I spit on your philistine
warm-complexioned beard faces. PTOOOOIE

Brianna: I said to Saddam Hussein: “You
despicable man, I spit on your owl’s face. How do
you address these glorious women without me
knowing about it?”

Lovetta: And we will say,

All: “I spit on your flowers!”

Lovetta: And you will say,

Sheptanya: “But I worship you – I adore you. You are an angel.”

Lovetta: And we will say,

All: “Yes, that’s true!”


Sheptanya: I spit on your irrelevance.

Brianna: Poetry often enters through the window of irrelevance.

Lovetta: Irrelevance fills my mind;
unrelated, disembodied experiences rush forth!

Brianna: Crippled by the sense of our own
cultural irrelevance, we now write poems

Sheptanya: (clears throat – reciting in “poetry” mode)


Negation is mine
Under the shadow of you I eat me away …
“life is no cabaret”
earlobe looks like a camel-toe
Found a fun pair of French Kitty pajamas
fetish treasonous leotard fetish sock
This internality, this pattern that is I,
is the agency of the self
Probing the secrets of sticky earwax.


Lovetta: You look real cute in that ninja getup.

Brianna: And may I just say you look
delicious in that sari, you wicked thing. The
original exposed midrift, how very charming

Sheptanya: This makes me look like Queen Victoria on a bad day.

Lovetta: Are you kidding? You look
totally shaggable in that. I mean, you look cute
in that “omg, that girl has got some balls to
wear THAT in public” way. At least you didn’t
have to wear elf ears.

Brianna: Does this make me look fickle? Or versatile?

Lovetta: Versatile. Does this make me
look two-dimensional? Or careerist?

Sheptanya: Careerist. Does this make me look
gelatinous? Or like slightly less of an
awesomely intimidating authority figure?

Brianna: I think it makes you look
“published.” Does this make me look like I’m
searching for an orange? Or too much like a
road? Or do I just look dead?

Lovetta: “You look ravenous in that
sweater.” Hee-hee-hee… oh lordy, you look goofy
in that outfit. Like some nude Oregon cheerleader
thrusting her borderline cameltoe in our faces
whilst straddling a cannon.

Sheptanya: This makes me look very sad, I
realize. By the way, do camels really spit?

Brianna: They aren’t actually spitting –
it’s more like throwing up! They bring up the
contents of their stomachs, along with saliva.

Lovetta: [pedantically] Definition of
spit. spit up, to vomit; throw up: The wounded
soldier spat up blood. If you jostle the baby,
she’ll spit up

Sheptanya: pink floid pink floyd pink humpy pink %20 humpy

Brianna: Against the New Paternalism:
Internalities and the Economics of camel toe

Sheptanya: 12. DROON – cripplefight 13. CHEVRON – power of eternia

Lovetta: High on head cement, eh? What is
the best and worst things about being a woman or
man? Saliva, also known as spit, is a clear
liquid that’s made in your mouth.

Brianna: Eyeball Lollipops

Sheptanya: Fluffy Humpy Poopy Puppy

Lovetta: He can feel the sweat-soaked
Lycra of her leotard in his embrace.

ALL: verb (past participle spit or spat,
present participle spit·ting, …
spit it out to say something at once,
especially something that has been withheld.

[all women exit wearing strange new outfits and
carrying armfuls of rejected clothing (not on
hangers) that they toss playfully at the clerk]