WORMING UP VON KWABBENSTEIN
is a man of the world. He is fond of declaiming gems like: Switzerland is rather expensive. Just going out for Chinese there costs you a fortune. So Tsead is sensible, but what most people don’t know is that he’s also a dab hand at things like running over grannies while street racing in the northern provinces and that his favourite pastime is shooting vodka-plied bears in the forests of Russia with the king of Spain. What’s more, when Tsead is at a loose end, he provides entirely pro deo assistance to New York undertakers in the removal and marketing of the organs of recently deceased members of the Christian community. Expectations are that Tsead will soon abandon the noble calling of poet to play guitar in bands like Bloody Dick Swamp, Squirrel Nut Zippers or Phungusamongus. Tsead will undoubtedly make a sexy success of that too. What we will miss most about Tsead is his perfectly dictator-like ability to greet an entire nation from an open sports car, the Czechs for instance. Tsead is happily married but has not yet enjoyed an orgasm in Cambodia or Thailand or on a Galapogas Island. He regrets never having fucked someone in Hellhole Bay, South Carolina, or Big Beaver Lick, Kentucky. As far as that goes we can thank our lucky asteroids. It is not us but Tsead who leads a life that is truly deep and tragic.