Well my time is really about up, so I think I will end--
This poem only takes a minute and I'll do it.
(SINGING) Let me see you do it.
Ey!
OK, that's Little John.
All right, so finally this is "Well Hung."
And to get away from all of the pesky talking to members
of my audience before reading, which I really
loathe, and having to get help to do my poem, which is rather
demeaning and insulting and I don't like it
at all, what I decided to do now to completely cut you
all out of the loop because that just makes me happier
is I have taken every kind of pod of language, every phrase,
and I've made an individual track of each one of those.
And I put them on a playlist complete with blank spaces
for air.
And I will put that playlist on shuffle
because I trust the machine to write a better poem than I will
in terms of sequencing it.
And the only thing I will perform live
is what you'll hear.
All right, so here we go.
Fat.
Well.
[RHYTHMIC MOANING]
Fat.
What cats hungry for?
Fat.
Stiff.
What you running for?
Up, up, up, up, up.
Fat.
[RHYTHMIC MOANING] ng, ng, ng--
Fat.
RHYTHMIC MOANING] ng, ng, ng--
[RHYTHMIC MOANING GETTING LOUDER AND FASTER]
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]