[Joel Terry]

*Gets up to stretch, then for reasons known only to God, hums the first few bars of LZ's "The Immigrant Song" accompanied by a lively, extended "Curly Shuffle" backwards across the room; unfortunately, pants fall down, trips, falls haplessly to the floor, hits head on floor, and lies unconscious on the floor, face down with pants down around ankles.*

Despite this inscrutable display and resultant fall, mute apathy befogs the room, except for Randy (getbent), who, having been awakened from his nodding off by the noisome fall, declares, "You know, I had the most screwed-up dream--Curly of Three Stooges is standing at the edge of this Nordic cliff with Jimmy Page; Curly takes his pants off, does his little 'derby-machine gun' shtick at Page, then bumps Page off the cliff with his belly. And all the way down, Page is screaming 'Zosoooooooooo!' Curly looks over the edge of the cliff, gives Page his exaggerated, sweeping arm-wave of dismissal, 'nyuks' a couple of times, and starts jumping around and hooting like an ape, but in this totally weird stop-motion kind of way, like he's in a strobe light. All of a sudden, he starts making all of these sexually suggestive poses--bending over, arching his back, sticking his ass in the air and wiggling it. And that's when I woke up."

Yet indifference suffuses the room still, despite Randy's curious oneiric narrative; to be more precise, indifference set to the icy, airless strains of John Cage's 4'33"--with the singular and salient exception of a faint, guttural, Jerry Lewis-like *hrrrn* by someone in the next room--*hrrrn*, indeed....