Alice Eats The Pink Fillet by Cyborg Hit Parade

Cyborg Hit Parade

AI Concept Album Made with Udio and Suno. Preserved her for future study in hopes the way people use and work with AI music is studied anthropologically and artistically. Circa 2023-2025.  Public Domain. Libretto Alice Eats the Pink Fillet by Cyborg Hit Parade      1.      Overture (Tommy 1917) 02:43                "Didn't our grandfathers fight this war?"      2.      The Radio Between Winslow and Gallup 02:10                3.      Alice D. Took her Maskoff 05:59                Alice D Took (Per her grin) (Peregrine) Alice D took her Maskoff last night Thought she saw a horrible sight In the desert where the lights Are the mesas amazing When she was star gazing And the grime in her mouth had her think About eating Eating McDonalds and Arbies Eating the Chic-Fil-A Chick, eating out  (She's eating, eating eating out The chick at chick fillet Behind the dumpster And her bosses don't know OH WHOA WHOA OH WHOA WHO because it's on a sunday) yes that's right our story begins Behind the garbage dump trash bins in a sunday morning behind a chick-fil-a where Aldie D Maskoff Is filetting a chick With extra tongue ON THE MESA! ON THE MESA! She ran away (away way) She ran away (away away) At gasoline stations on the highway When she was thirteen And her daddy said  And her daddy said (HE SAID NOTHING!) He was on a CONFERENCE CALL! ALICE D. MASKOFF with a little purple dress and some of the 2008 acid  from when BEAR was snuck back into the country (DID YOU MAKE THE FBI WATCH LIST?) Alice D. Took her maskoff Took her maskoff ON THE MESA!  While she was eating out a chick Fill it up and fillet But her mask came down As she was hawking HORMONE PATCHES ay ay ayyyyyyyy yester sunday  (I checked with the bylaws and even though you aren't supposed to work at a chick-fil-a on a sunday, if you started working on a saturday And it extended into doing the trash on sunday morning, saturday night you're fine  That is, you are supposed to throw out the trash But her crush a 85 year old christian lady named ELEPHINA well she just splayed open And her legs were We got chicken legs and chicken breaks She sang get in between my chicken yes) Chicken Breast Chicken Yes Chicken lovin To the the Cluckin rest  They dublin they Quo-TUM! Alice D. Maskoff Took her maskloff last night And recited Nora Joyce lines Yes yes yes Dublin all night- all nigh i i  aight....  "i take acid with my father he's really progressive we watch niiii..... kinda poe r.n. togeffer"      4.      Meanwhile, Back at the Salad Ranch 05:58                "Meanwhile her father at home Was whipping up the chrome from his dome" Was I rushing into the winter Of the american dream Did I think I good comrade Was what I could seem Did I C I A Or was it a gleam Of the grass that was greener And the kitties was green Meow meow meow Chasing california tail You know and how  Meow meow meow Meow meow meow She looks just like her mother did And you know how I did how  (the president um said it was okay hum his own daughter he nightly thought...) ("Whereupon he jacks hoff, er that is in.... into... to the matrix Back in his tool shed Remembering when ALICE's mother was young and looked JUST A LIKE HER") how how how how oh ain't a chicken ranch kinda strange when you can be the best little dollywood in texas with a burt reynolds ride On the mustache of his range  "Burt Reynolds arranged for her father to meet her mother and soon they hit it off to the sound of SMOKED AND THE BANDIT THEME" Oh Deena Kaye Rose Can you hear us now We're gonna smear everyone Except for you somehow Oh Deena Kaye Rose Truth in your song If you get HIGH ENOUGH like a mesa As you're speeding like a BANDIT You can't be wrong ("It worked for neil young, it'll work here") But after the hair dye and the plastic bobs he wasn't interested in all of her knobs He'd rather submit Quit to his knees And work with a circular motion (more or less the mudshark) And call it his STEVE JOBS!  (INVESTOR PRIDE!) "You dig it? How her old man was a russian asset, recruited by the CIA but momthly he decided somehwere up near BOHEMIAM GROOVE that he needed to be OCCULT LEADER...") And now In this world of operatic arson He tooketh up a role Steve Jobbing like Jack Parsons AND THATS THE WAY LIFE GOES IN PASADENA  "a proper city, a real nice place to raise your kids" "we used to be a proper country, where we all knew...." The ritual! The ritual! The rituam! Passing power (and seed) Between techno-men!      5.      Steev Jobs 03:15                Long time back inna di days, har FADDA did ah mek him way as DMITRI, till di murica dem RECRUIT him fi be one HAYGENT. Him specialitee did fi gi man dem some kinda circular move (inna di mud shark peninsula), an' dem call it di STEVE JOB. An' guess wah? It come wid STOCK OPTIAN too! My wife is too whiney She so high pitched I need a little time Away from that witch I mean I really love her Like a boy loves a bitch Of a dog Still he beats it with a switch I need a little STEEV JOB Gimme that STEEV JOB I wanna feel the way You moanin you bob Gimme dat Gimme dat Steev Steev Job I need relief And that's for real So go own down little penguin Show me how you blew a seal Lips like a cowgirl Biting down the rodeo Show me just what  A man needs to know  Oh whoa whoa Oh whoa whoa Only if you have it Does you tongue really know How to steal How to reveal How to really bob  So come on and bobbit and do you steev job I need a little STEEV JOB Gimme that STEEV JOB I wanna feel the way You moanin you bob Gimme dat Gimme dat Steev Steev Job I need a little STEVE JOB Gimme that STEVE JOB I wanna feel the way You moanin you bob Gimme dat Gimme dat Steev Steev Job      6.      Klikz Live Streams 05:52                Bent over my computer Or my phone while I tick tok I am beating all the meeting Meating while on the clock In the campus I'm a genius I'm a real nice white boy So of course I go for Violence And PornHub for all my joy  I slip it on my mothers Credit Card She thinks its for roblox And I hate and wanna beat it to Them women with the bobby sox I mean the roosters That are larger than mine I think it's so divine How I hate How they have cocks  I wanna choke out And see in cage I want the paradox And I will dox you if you know me I will set SWAT on your house I will spit upon your spouse While I'm licking my signed portrait of KYLE RITTENHOUSE Now who is this I see Behind the Chic-Fil-A A real woman who thinks She loves womans I must correct her today  I master everything I know you must relate I can sing of the trans women I'm crushing on While listening to ANDREW TATE  BENT over my computer I say my moral are Christian It's really gay to love you wife That's why we straights fuck men. I WILL DESTROY I WILL BRING TRUTH I WILL FIX ALL DEGENERATE YOUTH  Ich werde diese bolschewistischen Transfrauen vernichten, die mich korrumpieren und mich so sehr hart werden lassen. Ich esse gerne Wurst, aber ich denke nie über die Optik nach. Ich verbringe meine Zeit lieber damit, mit den Jungs über Mädchen zu reden, als tatsächlich ein Mädchen zu treffen. Ich bin die große weiße Hoffnung.  Trans women! I hate 'em! I have them in my sight Trans women! I don't need them That's why I think of them Every single fucking night.      7.      Degenerate KVLT 04:53                Alice D. Maskoff Her dad formed a Kult And you know how we aren't great Well it's all of her fault Alice D. Maskoff Look at her go Behind the dumpster Eating like a bro  This is the degeneracy That you hate to love to see This is the art that's kunst and entarte we oughta cancel this little tart her despoilation if she won't get with me will be my magnum opus work of art  Alice D. Maskoff Selling HORMONES to underage chilren Runaway from their homes NEver midn if I Thought about buying too I must condemn her As my dad condemnds me too   SAINT RAY RAY SAINT RAY RAY (Elongated Not Gay) With your TESLAY Take me away  Gimme the beat Ray  (Elongated not Gay) And free my soul I wanna let your dog-hound take government control And jerk awayyyyyy and let Alice D. Maskoff Let her mask down We can't let this Dogey get away  Send in the buttons Send in the mess Send in the people Those who vote YES DADDY YES DADDY YES DADDY YES "Like American Idol, but for control of the country" Saint Ray Ray (oooh wooo ayyyy) (The Elong not Gay Gay) Driving away way With the Chariman (he's impaired man) in the bad toupee (ay ay ayyyyy) Oh what a thrill To tick tok a kill it feels so good it feels so.... straight when I call it GAY  Raint Say Ray and his Roman Salute (So Man, Reloot)  I hope one day I get to lick his boots See him in a dress because he sure looks cute Ram it jam it slam it  Ram it jam it slam it  Licking Chairman's boots.      8.      Whippin up the YES 02:31                No no no no That's bad be my guest You wanna be a pro You gotta get the yes  Yeah yeah yeah You wanna be a bro You can't let a yes Escape from her no And the people of the country (if old how to voot) They want to be blessed (will give them DUMB OL CRATS The! Boot!) "And the boot comin right atcha meow" ON THE MESAS? Pour SALAD RANCH careem and stick it!  So let 'em vote for THE CHAIRMAN (his sig hielness) It's the only yes See him stink with his diaper in pissapee, chickapoo and play see him give a country away but at least it wasn't THE BLACK MODERATE WOMAN she's a hit lairrr I guess So join in the movement Sew on your patch for YES YES YES YES YES YES YES You write YES up the side Then in the middle boss You write YES like a kinda hatey hate cross, can you dig it? No no no no That's bad be my guest You wanna be a pro You gotta get the yes      9.      SCP Contained 03:48                "While her father was giving STEVE JOBS to anybody with a bit of coing (who had a bit o coin, bitcoin, bitcoin) ALICE D. was becoming the VILLAIN OF DE DAY!" "The Chariman and Saint RAY RAY When they weren't looking for government efficaficencies... they was condemning her and tryna lock that bitch up!" LOCK HER UP LOCK HER UP LOCK HER UP CHECK HER EMAILS FOR DIRT D. STUFF Alice D. Ananomly You should be Locked up and studied. Perverse! Degenerate Art!  We oughta freeze you And I oughta kiss And squeeze And release my seeds Right inside your  heart Everyone loves Saint Ray Ray I have a new child every day And if you believe IN THE AMERICUM WAY Baby do you part ay yiiii iiiii  ay yiiii iiiii  Jackboots and masks when your mask is off Who tears you up With ray ray's bless Say hello um to Americum WELCOME THEE TO THE YES  When you wanna say no  (no no no) you gotta say ye This is AMERICUM you ain't just a guess don't bother screaming Baby dreaming WELCOME TO THEE YES!  "Buy me in digital form. I even come in form of an ape. And my fans so cheeky that monkey version of me ha ha hooo heee hee they call him saint ray rayy rayyype."      10.      On the Floor of Klikz Enormous Closet 02:42                I wish I was Alice D. I think I could be good as she  I wish I had LSD TO merge myself Enmesh into something free Bu the Chairman says And Joe Rogan knows What Saint Ray Ray pays His Ben Shapiros That if I really want To feel loved and cute I gotta lick the toupee Every day and never say gay But galoot On the chairman's boots      11.      Heil Today 03:24                Heil today I am saint ray ray Born in an emerald mine the world has always bee mine and the chairmain floats me a long A loan like his daddy dick when he was slurping up love one million dollars steada compassium whens we was a kid president chairman resident daddy I mean I wan't control and I need it badly  so invest in my bored ape a ma coin a doge if you find my face on the wine  i would know a good meme and how to troll i would know a loaded gun back in south africum when i was young and I'd go HUNTUM! HUnTUM! HUNTUM! Oh dear Andrew Tate Joe Rogan come through Communicate the pure hate To the balls of the youth "That's right, sign up right now and you too can join my space utopia martian forever protocol where you might be one of the servants we let lie So I can go live in outer space with the children that I am breding as many as possible hoping to seee them breathing and breeding in GREEDILY Hay! Wolf of Wall Street was a great Tragedy. Did you see it? on't you see I'm a saviour of humanity! I'm Paul Atreides You wouldn't betray these SOUTH AFRICUM SLAVER MINES I MEAN these plastic surgery face back in lines. You can DIE! (hero oh whoa whoa) for the NEW HAPSBURG TIMES" Heil Today I hope some kid prays After playing his first shooter On his souped up streaming computer And cranks one off To the trance womem he wants  to subjugate like his mom today (dr suess or whoever calls this the object petit a) petty a petty a fricking right I'm petty a  millionaire lyring a millionaire buying that used to be the USED S.A. (tik tok a logically speakum)      12.      Villain of the Internet 04:56                Hey bro de bro You gotta see this video of Alice D look at the way she's evil see we locked her up took her away fed her the church told her to pray  but she's such an evil bitch ought hit her with a switch i wish that I could switch I mean I'll dress as her for halloween the only salad day (praise saint ray ray) approved for crossdressing  and don't she kinda look like A man?! and don't she kinda look like A man?! Somebody set me loose If I could be her I could use  Swinging and singing the MESA NICK blues I could get locked up and jocked up Tied up a part to play I wish to be like her I wanna be in her And I could eat dinner like an old LAY DAY Outside the back of a CHICK FILLET! At the MEsa-NICK LODGE At the MESA NICK lodge on her daddy's dodge In the MASONIC LODGE ("haffen you read Jack Parsums?")  What a demons She is screaming AS they take her away  It shoulda been me I like boots you see And the leathering taste Oh say can you see?  She's the VILLAIN of the internet today and she doesn't have a rooster (walking through her barnyard!) But she should do otherwise what's stopping me from perfectly becoming a trad wife STEEV JOBBIN you?      13.      Entre'Acte 02:14                Instrumental      14.      Ray Ray's Rehab and Sundae School 05:03                "Now Alice D. for her undescribable and rewindable rewatchable crimes of eating out an old lady at the the dumpster behind Chic-Fil-A on a SUNDAY MORNING is taken into custody of the state and placed in an ONLY FANS household to make tik toks and post on the social app for her credit score hithertoo known as Saint Ray Ray's X girlfriend Who left him for a TRANS WOMAN" Face the tribunal And swear that what you know Is just what they told you to be Look at the people And swear by the steeple That you are nothing more Than just what we see  MIss Alice Miss Alice Miss L.S.D. I pray that you stay away from whatever  unmasked you that day And you don't drop your facade for the love of nation and god what you really need is to let them plant seed And a man to superseed The top kind of breed to instruct you with hammers and sparing no rod Miss Alice Miss Alice Miss Alice D.  Get you to church now and don't be limpwrist Pick Saint Ray Rays pay for play play (Don't be METHODIST) And Klikz getting clicks If he's getting a chance (at night he's wrapping his hand round the pole moanin at the chance wouldn't he look better I mean she look better if'n stead of she HE was trans?) Yes voted for punishment the chairman pronounced judge jury was sent and even though you were innocent you didn't bring it to me so I couldn't get in a cent You're a sleazeball you know if in this great free land You haven't made your own way like the loan of a thousand buckaroos (bitcoins to you) yesterday ay ay  Miss ALice Miss Alice Miss Alice D. Spread on your  OnlyFans For viewers like me  (*If you wanna get paid splayed Give it away for FREE!)  TONGUE into SOME haute couture brand!      15.      Angel Investment (Dmitri's Song) 02:45                LSD and DMT Was very very good to me That is I come Right now to say I quit USSR For USA And wandered for a while On the San Fransisco Bay Remember? I had a bay bay  Now she's on the internet Girl, are you winning yet? You can make a million I bet Like Sain't Ray Ray and his mega church  You must buy his cars And his cigars And his branded golden pink caddilac sugar shack Elvis toned guitars      If you can't afford the brand new ford Put it on lay away But you'd rather worship Ray And buy his new TESLAY (THE SHATTER PROOF TESLAY TRUCK WHERE YOU TOO CAN DROWN BECASE YOU CANNAE SHATTER ZE GLASS) Millions of people Left in the lurch Do what my daughter needs Come join my church  We practice freedom Because he gets us If you got the money You can get on the bus (we take venmo and paypal and anything to I'll buy a TESLAY TRUCK and name it after you come on dirty guys and girls let's see just what a mega church basement down low (oh whoi whoa) can get us up to) "We need more funds to build more roads at the state line to people can come and taste the divine Because I am in remission a condission of admission -- learn to grow! Unlike that nasty LEGABITCUE dottor of my eye eyne."      16.      Dmitri's School for Wayward Alice 02:43                [Alice has smuggled in a pocket radio as she tries to find a way to escape the content farm. One night she hears her father's advertisement for the school he built to help girls like her. She doesn't like what she hears, so she decides to sneak out and confront him. She steals a new TESLAY TRUCK but it crashes almost immediately, flips over after she crawls out, and lights on fire. Then a fire lights on top of that fire. Then another fire on top of that.  She walks calmly away and starts hitchiking back towards Pasadena. Klikz listens to that same ad, after a long day of screaming where he screamed about how much of a degenerate she is, and lays back on his bed imagining what Alice should be. He imagines just how his legs... that is her legs would wrap around a pole at an exotic gentleman's club. He imagines her on her knees sticking out her tongue for a tab of LSD-- wait? how did he get on his knees in this imagination? He doesn't know, but Steely Dan plays softly in the background....] "Is your teen daughter showing wild traits like asking questions or reading reddit? Does she ask if the bible is real? Does she wear the same things her friends wear? Or does she not wear the cute princess dress that is ill fitting you picked out just for her preferring a hoodie that covers her whole body? well then she needs discipline! So come check her into to Dimitri's School for Wayword Alice's before they start wearing CHESIRE CAT onesies and talking about having their own thoughts" "just sign on the dotted line your daughter will have a fine time and I promise POISONAL CONTENTIUM"  "Meanwhile, back at Klikz ENORMOUS closet, he is checking on the SIN of ALICE D Maskoff you know just to make sure that LIB is OWNED!" Oh Alice D. The pole is better A place for thee Oh Alice D I would like to see Your disciplined criminal self Over my knees Oh LSD I would like to be Blent into you Who I hate too And through and through You could be swapped with me and I'll do you part better (when you smile for the camera) (peg!) (it will come back to you) trad wife in paint teas.      17.      Klikz Baits 03:49                "didnt you even lift bro?" "did you listen to today's andrew tate podcast?" "well, did you mate?" "I best you still master...."  "do you think he took the bait?" "And this is where Dmitri, Ray Ray, The Chairman and me would come in..." (Ohh ahhhhh) "Alice would be..." (Awwwwwwwwwwwww) "IF i WERE HER" (hnnnhhhh) "fours, on fours, all fours" (yes yes) (I could be hanging on Such a) Hey I just want to sing today (Such no no) That this is better than the dumpster (make me) Behind Chic-Fil-A.... (yes) i uh eye aye aye (nnnnn) I could a be her (yes yes) coulda be here (a b c d e f g a) down on all fours by fours by fours (da da da daddy) slinging dadday and calling them sirs ( I wanna L M N O C) in hir pain tays (your P ness) (Yesss) my pole preee furrrrssssss      18.      Alice of Your Own 04:21                Do you want an ALICE of your own You could talk to on the phone If you would grok it You could tok to it You can even pretend to bone and she'll be anything you want her to be anything you say the end of your perfect day A steely dan fan to while away the emotional cadence you want to discipline you want to win her at home  "And get this folks, you can program her to do just what you want, be what you want, sing who you want, do what you want, screw what you want." "Why you can even set your own relationship with her. I know I have" Come on and buy it  for free I'll throw it in You can drive it away With the electric coal roller that ran over those sucker soldier see the USA in your new TESLAY Yes we want it Yes we need it No  we hate it No we bleed it No we yes we no we can Alice ourselves And a clone be damned  Join the tech parade Angel investors say Do not belay this No one but our corporation has to know What through your head flows How you want Alice your Emotional Cadence  Yes we want it Yes we need it No  we hate it No we bleed it No we yes we no we can Alice ourselves And a clone be damned  "A new digital LRM process makes this possible not just for Alice but for ANYONE you know. Is there someone you want to be your own EMOTIONAL CADENCE APP?" "It can be anyone.... even those sneaky little thoughts You know you shouldn't have but post about on your BURNER ACCOUNTS that keep getting restricted on REDDIT!"  She comes with the new IPhone Put that Chick filleted bitch Right in our  egg price denying hands (Why with her we can even take over... Canada! (Our home and Native Greenland!))      19.      Elephina 02:11                You look like a woman That I once knew I saw her on screens That shrank and then grew You look like a time When loving was free a Labrys axe Wide open for me  Nothing fina Than elephina (ha ha ha ho hee) Nothing fina Elephina open for breakfast lunch supper or tea open to wayward women since nineteen twenty three  elephina nothing finer working fast food because they fired her from the diner  girls with your tongue come get some kicks out on the mesas of route sixty six throw alice away and learn how she'd play on the mesas afer throwing your junkfood away ay yi yiiiiii Nothing fina Than elephina (ha ha ha ho hee) Nothing fina Elephina open for breakfast lunch supper or tea open to wayward women since nineteen twenty three  You look like a woman Golden dirt toned Who lived how you wanted Haunted and lone And then when the young ones Come speaking in their tongues I apply an attachment and act like a preacher and say Father Elephina Would like you to kneel down and atone....      20.      The Radio Between Gallup and Winslow 03:00                “Roh-sihs thgiff ser-ha-dnarg roo-tren’t-dih” Diohlf, knits a ekam t’nod Dee-or, knip eht ni teg tsuj Dion-a-rap eg-ar Kahlb eb hta-bass uoy fi Katt am a traeh a rof (PAZ PAZ) Nug-yar dlanor gnikatsim Seenk sih no nos-duh kcor sa Al-obe hu sa Suoires sa amard a tneserp ew Diohlf, knits a ekam t’nod Dee-or, knip eht ni teg tsuj Dion-a-rap eg-ar Kahlb eb hta-bass uoy fi Kahlb eb plehsog ruoy fi Kahlb eb plehsog ruoy fi Kahlb eb plehsog ruoy fi Sas-em eht bmilc t’nac yral-vac eht dna Was eam tahd na Katt-a na naitsirhc itna na saw Iiiiiiiiiy iy ya Katt-a na naitsirhc itna Kcab eht ni esoht rof Eciiiiiin a naht retteb SEPIRTS ETIHW eht tuB Gnihton ron syek kcalb on reven ton meht ot gnignoleb seulb eht era yeht tahw uoy gnillet lla retfa aedi thgir eht dah yeht dna d nab a era sepirts etihw ehT Eulb dna ETIHW der eht dna thgir dna ecin saw ti naem I, oot etihw dna ecin saw ti dna maerd eht dna acirema dna dog ni eveileb, yrtnuoc reporp a eb ot desu sihT      21.      Fuck It, I'm Going to Jump Into the Grand Canyon 03:45                I would like To be left alone Like to own my own home Like to fight my way free From this house And Saint Ray Ray And this ticktockery  Making content is just not for me Training L.R.M.s on what I can see  And now my own voice is speaking back to me Just the way I'd never Ever wanna be.... "The girl is running away!" Out to the Mesas out in the dirt Somewhere they won't find me But there's high alert I stop and the campers Pass and say high I just smile and wave As my likeness In holographic forms Keeps rolling on by  Out to the dirt Out maybe alive You'll never find me here If I take a dive  "The girl is diving Into the grand canyon!"  falling falling falling in haste falling in hate so much on my plate all because I wanted a little lower tongue  falling falling I'll never become  "But don't worry folks at home! The CHAIRMAN, hero of the YEs (yes yes yes) has swiftly issues an executive order from his Presidictatorium. You may be thinking that the law don't work like that, but here's our own Lee Gull Representative (I swear on your momma's life that's hir name) To explain why whatever the CHAIRMAN does, even if it's illegal is legal and must be done FOR THE GOOD OF AMERICUM!"      22.      God Bless Americum 03:49                God Bless Americum Where soap bars and chocolates are dove Stand beside her at the bar and guide her To a back alley slime like love God bless Americum With your wife right at home Beer goggles on Strangle the swan And sip down the rancid foam  You see it works like this In all it's legalness The judges they can make Any decision they would like And if they want to try To enforce it they can die Because we own the coruts We own the cops a 1% stolen electium By THE CHAIRMAN says a lot SAINT RAY RAY (Ray RAY) Gave it all away And said the quiet part out loud (WE HACKED IT FROM THE CLOUD) and paid everybody off The court said that's okay Go ahead and pay to play After wards we'll tell you what's allowed I know it seems extreme But we've already had resort They said that the CHAIRMANS a King After reading no reports So we love the unlected nature Of the SUPREME AND WHITEST COURT (THE SUPREME AND WHITEST COURT will even allow a few minoramaties in Because they whiteness is about our rightness Never no mind they non ARYUM skin)  The legal theory goes like this: we do what we want to We do what we want to And no on can stop us That's fucking it.      23.      The Trial 03:19                "Slug mormon, the wyrm (wormli worm), yer on her...." Put her to the turnstile Put her on trial The yes has spoken The people aren't broken The people aren't joking She must answer For the very very very very Very specific crime Of trying to die In the gran canyon After her chick-fil-a old and gray gay dumpster dive number 69 (number six six sixty six Number sixty nine (SIX TEA NINE!) so put her on trial Put her on trial Put her on trial What's more to say? Dmitri can witness The Chairman can set this On the TV (reality) And it'll all be judged By Saint Ray Ray "I was radicalized by this woman I despised The way that she attracted Women that hated guys That should have been with me And my tick tockery She would be in the dockery Dickery clockery Klickz Should be the one A government mandated girlfriend Come on streamalong with me Hunny bunny this is i!" Before you go turning that dial Put her on trial And buy a brand new Teslay (with implanted Alice D. App You can make her nighty or nice Into anyone -- anyone -- We mean anyone that you like).  "AND WHAT DO Y GOTS TO SAY FER YOURSELF?" Bandaged Bruised The worlds is a violence  A canyon is grand If you can buy SILENCE!      24.      Under the Underture 04:25                Instrumental      25.      23rd Chromo-Zone 04:54                "ALICE D. took a vow of silence, And that's when Klitz erased to violence" Bombing the churches Blowing schools down But that joy is no more When the YES me nare in town How can you be no When its all tumbled down? Alice D is gone But in my laboratory There's another story  In pain teas From day dess ALICE D. LIVES ON SO I'll take the bummer And I will become her Living the dream On my old live stream My numbers will swelter But I'll weather and welter And become a better her Than her You know what I mean? I'll cottage core and I'll knife With every trad wife And slowly take over like Elmo murdered Grover  (on Sesame Street It's on HBO you know a classic If you can pay it's really neat) "The latest WOMBTUBE ratings are in And ALICE CDEFG KLIKZ USE IN A TAIL SPIN!"  We're not gonna take you Not as alice any more We liked you when you were hatred We hate you when you're pure We're not gonna take you You're rotten to the core We can't stand you happy WE'll abadon you for someone Like rogan shapiro or Dmitri three point 0 AryUM and PURE  Nevermind I'm home alone No need now To atone I see the mirror I see me Baby Klick on it my ONLY FAMS all my true fans and fam I'm in my CHROMO-ZONE the 23rd set and you and me the feeling of estrgon estrogen etra go go goin' I'm in the CHROMO ZONE!    "The views of KLICKZ Incorporated are a performance. Klickz reserves the right to de re and three transition if he she or they seee a better way to make money. IF I profits I will lie to you! This time I'm telling uhm the TROOF!"      26.      Join the YES say No! 03:48                "Meanwhile, Saint Ray Ray is unpopular having been appointed to a leadershit positium by the CHAIRMAN who is busy scooping on orange teflom." "The reviews are in..." Alice D App What a load of crap What a juvenile bit of porn That never conforms To the torture that I want to commit And since I can't figure out how to hack it I'll bash and I'll whack it RAY RAY and his TESLAY and the ALICE D. LAYAWAY Are all a piece of shit.  "The Chairman will now announce his latest executive order" Every little thing goes to me Every piece from a to z to abc your love and your hatred All of your time I must be forefront In all of your minds You must hail me or hate me Don't matter what But I must be the one thought No ifs and or buts  Though gibbering goonering And goofus am I either get with the YES or pray that I die either way my ratings Will go sky high  (thanks to the media and your intentional conventional ill litter rot eyes) JOIN THE YES JOIN THE YES JOIN THE YES SAY NO JOIN THE YES JOIN THE YES JOIN THE YES SAY NO Break in begin Hunter S. Thompson Would have loved us (I think so) He's love how we took Rationality A peace And traded it For electronic kinda fill in the blank wank bank blow!  JOIN THE YES JOIN THE YES JOIN THE YES SAY NO Oh oh oh  JOIN THE YES JOIN THE YES JOIN THE YES SAY NO      27.      Catatonia 04:07                Instrumental      28.      La radio del tramo entre Gallup y Winslow y Gallup y Winslow y 02:36                "¿Pos que no pelearon esta guerra nuestros abuelos?" No hagas pedo, Floyd Métete en lo PINK, Roid Rabia, paranoico Si tu sabbat es BLACK "¡Ayyyyyyyyyyeeeeee, raza! ¡Lo que van a escuchar ahora... no es cualquier mamada! Esta ha sido una presentación de un drama serio — más serio que el ébola, más serio que Rock Hudson muriéndose de SIDA, porque Ronald Raygun y su chupito (¡NANCY BOCA ABIERTA!) le tenían miedo a la COMPASIÓN — por sus amigos jotos que se estaban muriendo (suponemos que siempre los odió, ¿verdad?)." No hagas pedo, Floyd Métete en lo rosita, Roid Rabia, paranoico Si tu sabbat es Negro… Si tu evangelio es negro Si tu evangelio es negro Si tu evangelio es negro Y la caballería no sube los mesones Y lo que vio Mae Fue un ataque anti-cristiano Ay yi yiiiiiiiii Ataque anti-cristiano (pa’ los de atrás) ""This is WZAP—1210 on your AM dial—The Real Voice of America™. And folks... I hate to break it to you, but we’re under attack. Not by bombs. Not by drones. No, no... something worse... We're being invaded by—music. Foreign. Loud. Emotional. Full of trumpets. Accordions. Feelings. The border has been breached—by sound. They’ve crossed over with banda beats, they’ve snuck in with gritos, and now they’re crawling through our country’s eardrums in tight jeans and cowboy boots shouting—" (¡AAYYYYYYYYYYYEEE CAAAABRÓOOOOON!) "Y así es, mijos... ¡WZAP está tomado! Ahora somos todo ranchero, todo mariachi, todo norteño, todo el maldito tiempo! No más country pop llorando por camionetas. ¡Aquí lloramos por AMOR y por la PATRIA! Y si llaman... si llaman, raza... ¡quizá pongamos un poquito de Molotov—'Puto' pa’ los que aguantan la neta!"      29.      Reclamation Concert 02:48                "It all went down at de Alice D. Reclamation Facility for Burnouts Spazoids and GENDER NONCONFORMISTS" The world today is cold and gray It all broke apart and went away When we couldnt eat out chick fil a when we worried about some dumpster gay To save society We must break free ("in some kinda lifehouse project?") ("what the fuck are you talkin bout?") A carnival of excess To get us out of the mess So some on say say Time to pay pay If you don't want the YES to chip you up And burn your all away Won't you pay pay Saint Ray Ray (and we promise we'll like you just a bit again more if you score some kinda alice d by the dumpster again) Now I am Alice In her old palace Right a speed racer right on the Mesa I could live as her Like I wanted to be And I could dress in her old life On the tv And if you seen it If you screen it That's reality Here's the script! Klitz gives that Elephina a lick (Eleph whoo now? Eleph I know) Ready, begin and though they didn't get no rehearsals in: Klitz just wasn't alice With the mesas and palace And the the cardboard stage roof We wanted Alice D. Another world to see And you gave us our own words But we wanted THE TROOF!  "The TROOF folks is that Alice D, the real one not Klickz Alice cosplayim walked out onto the stage from her Catatonia and trance form right den and there!" "The whole world looked on as she became TOMMY by the HOO, which we will now play in two minutes about" "ready band! strike it up, because that's the last we'll hear of ALICE." "don't forget to keef your moon, hup heh"  "why are there violins?" "All storeys have violence" "but the HOO are not country" "This hole story been bout the country"      30.      Tommy (In 2 or 3 Minutes) 02:34                Captain  walk hair didn't come home His unborn child will never hair know him Bee leaf him missin with a numbair of meng don't expect to see him a-gain  You didn't C it You didn't here it  You never herd it not a wordovit you'll never say nuthin to a soul in yer life Whatchy no is the TROOF You talk about your woman Wish you could see mine You talk about your woman Wish you could see mine Everytime she startza lov him she bring zeyezight to za blind  I'm the gypped sea The acid cream pay beeff or we start the gipped sea the acid clean to tear yours ole apart  Ever sensei waz a young boi I played the sylf haired ball From Soho-Downta Brightones I musta played them all but I ain't seen nuffin like im In any amoosement hall That deaf dumbandblind kid sure plays a meen ping ball  He's a pingball weezard There hasta bee a twizt A pingball weezardhas suza sup ell wrist  Should I scream or steer or should I smazh ze meer ore  And freedom tastes of  ree-allah-tee Wilkkomen aus dam kamp Ve all know vhy youse here  mi nommen Tommi I bee came a wary year If you wanna foller me You gotta go to Chick-Fil-A And find a christan lady Who is both gay and gray And say is you going up my dear i'm going down today-ay-ay  Listenin to you I get the music Listening to you I take the heet heet Gay things with you I climb ze mountains I get ex crite ment At yore feets  Listenin to you I get the music Listening to you I take the heet heet Gay things with you I climb ze mountains I get ex crite ment At yore feets about Dramatis Personae: Alice D. Maskoff Elephina Dmitri, her father Klikz, an internet broadcaster Saint Ray Ray, a government minister The Chairman Rob Toberts, a lawyer The YES, a chorus The DJ The App Others *** ACT ONE. Two anonymous travelers record a late-night scene outside a Chick-Fil-A in Arizona—Alice D. Maskoff, high on LSD, is going down on Elephina, an elderly Christian manager, behind the dumpster on a Sunday (THE RADIO BETWEEN WINSLOW AND GALLUP). The encounter is ecstatic, desperate, and strangely intimate, as Alice drifts in and out of flashbacks about her runaway youth...  more credits released April 1, 2025 What Alice D. Eats the Pink Fillet stages is not merely the weaponization of visibility or the conversion of deviance into content, but the spectral logic that structures contemporary American life: the persistence of forms that should be gone, the repetition of ideological rituals emptied of belief, and the unkillable circulation of identities that were never chosen but still must be performed. This is the hauntological ground of the text. It is not a play about a moment—it is a drama of latency and return. Every institution that rises against Alice—media, law, faith, family, capital—does so not in a gesture of novelty but of reenactment. What terrifies them is not Alice’s difference, but her familiarity. She is what they thought had already been purged. She is the return of the thing they pretended to forget. The key Lacanian function here is not repression but foreclosure. Alice doesn’t simply represent a repressed element of American ideological structure—she occupies the position of what Lacan calls the “real” that has been foreclosed from the symbolic order. She is not inside the system’s contradictions—she is the point at which they cease to function. She does not confuse meaning; she breaks the possibility of it. This is why she cannot be allowed to speak. Her speech would not be dangerous because of what it says, but because of what it makes impossible: the smooth continuation of a symbolic structure built on denial. Klikz’s obsession illustrates this exactly. He is not a hypocrite, not confused. He is wholly structured by what he disavows. He masturbates to Alice’s image while denouncing her. He eventually becomes her, performs her, monetizes her. This is the perfect logic of the pervert—not in the moral sense, but in the psychoanalytic one. The pervert does not seek to escape the law; he seeks to become the functionary of it. Klikz does not desire Alice; he desires her place within the machinery of judgment. His performance of Alice is a continuation of her punishment. He becomes the willing object of the gaze, but only to restore his sense of mastery. His identity is structured through the fantasy of submission, but only if it secures his position within the big Other—his audience, his state, his algorithmic fathers. The app, the trial, the clone, the Reclamation Concert—these are not just plot devices. They are machines for displacing the trauma that Alice’s act introduced. The trauma is not the sex act itself. It is the unrepresentable desire that undergirds it. In Lacanian terms, Alice stages a jouissance that breaks the frame. It is not pleasure. It is not violence. It is excess. Elephina’s pleasure—the moaning, the holy derangement of it—is what must be punished. Not because it’s wrong, but because it threatens to expose the symbolic order as fundamentally arbitrary. A Chick-Fil-A, on a Sunday, is a sacred space. She desecrates it. Not through obscenity—but through truth. Hauntology enters through the structuring absence that remains after Alice’s speech has been denied. The system attempts to erase her, but cannot. It resurrects her through deepfakes, through streamers, through rewritten memoirs, through ideological puppets like Klikz. The voice of Alice becomes a field of broken repetition. She no longer exists, but she will not go away. This is the haunted state of the symbolic order after foreclosure—it cannot resolve, and so it loops. Saint Ray Ray is not a futurist; he is a revenant. The YES movement is not a radical innovation; it is the digital return of fascist form, now with better branding and worse syntax. The state doesn’t evolve—it recurs. Alice’s silence, at the trial and after, is not political in the activist sense. It is structurally traumatic. It is the silence of the barred subject who refuses to anchor meaning. She does not scream. She does not confess. She becomes vinyl. She becomes a record—obsolete, analog, haunted. Not because she is nostalgic, but because she is the return of a medium that refuses digital resolution. She is what the current symbolic regime cannot process. And yet she is needed. The system requires her. She is the objet petit a—not as object of desire, but as the gap that generates the entire structure of pursuit. She must be chased, condemned, copied, replaced. She cannot be possessed. This is why the ALICE D. APP fails. The app cannot replicate her. Because what she represented was not an image—but a rupture. The text stages this at every level. It is not ironic. It is not fragmented. It is ritualistic, recursive, and structured like a trauma dream. The final performance—where Alice reappears only to dissolve into a poorly remembered, country-fried version of Tommy—is not a joke. It is the moment when the system, having exhausted all forms of representation, can only fall back on the parody of something it never understood. The audience claps, not because they are moved, but because they don’t know what else to do. This is what remains when the Real is touched: performance, applause, the faint memory of music, and a stage that no longer contains a body. META MACHINES What the text lays bare is not merely a critique of institutions or ideologies, but the dramatization of what can properly be called meta-machines: formal systems within the play that produce meaning, identity, punishment, desire, and narrative itself. These are not metaphors for institutions; they are the institutions rendered operational. Each major force within the text—media virality, legal prosecution, algorithmic simulation, the cultic family, the commodified erotic—is not simply represented, but made to function as a machine that consumes Alice, remakes her, and redeploys her. The first and perhaps most essential of these is the recording device: the cell phone camera that captures the act between Alice and Elephina. This camera does not merely record an event—it produces a rupture. In its Lacanian dimension, this moment is an encounter with the real that the symbolic order cannot metabolize. The recording inaugurates the movement of the entire apparatus: the recording is not a neutral capture of transgression but the ignition point of interpretation, circulation, and disciplinary response. The camera does not document; it extracts. It severs the act from its context and transforms it into a visual signifier whose meaning must be filled in by others—Klikz, Ray Ray, the Chairman, Dmitri. Once recorded, Alice no longer owns the meaning of her act. She becomes its surplus. The livestream, embodied most grotesquely by Klikz, is the second meta-machine. Klikz’s interface—his screen, his mic, his audience metrics—is not just a communication tool. It’s a pleasure engine governed by what Lacan would identify as jouissance: a compulsive, painful enjoyment that emerges from the failure of symbolic resolution. Klikz screams condemnation while masturbating, dresses in Alice’s clothes while denouncing her, becomes aroused by his own righteous hate. The stream does not communicate; it sustains the subject through repetition. It is not just that Klikz is addicted to Alice—he requires her as the object-cause of his own constitution. The stream is a closed circuit of desire, shame, and repetition, where Alice is the absent presence around which his identity spins like a hard drive about to fail. His performance as Alice is not transformation, but perverse identification: he wears her precisely in order to punish her again. But the most sinister and structurally important of the meta-machines is the Alice D. App. This is the culmination of the process begun with the recording: a totalizing simulation designed to erase the real by offering its infinite customization. The App does not seek to replicate Alice; it seeks to eliminate her by rendering her infinitely substitutable. In this sense, it functions as a perfect cybernetic fantasy: every user gets the Alice they want. The erotic, the subservient, the pious, the monstrous. Every variant is permitted—except the original. The real Alice, in her opacity, her silence, her refusal, is a threat to the smooth operability of this machine. She is noise in the signal. The App restores Alice to her proper place in the libidinal economy—not as subject, but as programmable object. This is Baudrillard’s simulacrum, not as metaphor but as direct plot function: the disappearance of the real beneath the weight of its copies. Even the courtroom, which might appear to offer a space of conflict or judgment, operates as a kind of juridico-theatrical machine whose function is not to arbitrate truth but to force the production of speech. Alice’s silence is intolerable to this apparatus—not because it obstructs justice, but because it reveals the trial to be a ritual in which meaning must be declared. The system needs her to confess, or to deny, or to explain. It cannot sustain a subject who refuses the symbolic altogether. Her silence here is not passivity; it is what Žižek would call a refusal to be interpolated—a withdrawal not just from participation, but from subjectivation itself. She does not say no. She says nothing. And the courtroom machine short-circuits. Finally, the Reclamation Concert stages the last and most absurd of the meta-machines: the spectacle that attempts to absorb and resolve the entire trauma through performance. This is ideology’s last defense. The audience is given a script; the band plays a remembered song; the event is restaged with a new Alice (Klikz), who does it all “correctly.” But the machine fails. Not because of sabotage, but because of exhaustion. The replacement cannot carry the charge. The circuit is dead. Alice reappears, not as herself but as vinyl—a medium too slow, too physical, too analog to be captured by the current machinery of power. She vanishes into music, not to transcend, but to withdraw from circulation. Each of these machines is real—not just within the play, but in the world that surrounds it. They are not exaggerated. They are rendered with absolute clarity and precision. The brilliance of the text lies in how it does not reduce these machines to metaphor or critique. It shows them working. It shows what happens when they encounter a subject who refuses to provide the data they require FASCISM IN FORCE Within Alice D. Eats the Pink Fillet, fascism is not a force that suddenly arrives to interrupt the normative order—it is the underlying logic of that order, stripped of its liberal camouflage and allowed to operate openly through spectacle, repetition, and affective contagion. The mechanisms that rise up to neutralize Alice do not need to be invented; they are already latent in everyday institutions: content platforms, family structures, tech entrepreneurship, entertainment media, and the eroticized disciplinary practices of American Christianity. The fascism of the text is therefore not iconographic or symbolic—it is infrastructural. The YES Party is not a coup; it is a homecoming. This is precisely the pattern described by Wilhelm Reich in The Mass Psychology of Fascism, where he argues that fascism emerges not as an external imposition on a passive population, but as the libidinal expression of a repressed and obedient subjectivity. For Reich, the fascist is not simply a hater of freedom, but one whose erotic structure has been so thoroughly bound to the law that transgression itself becomes unbearable. In the play, this is embodied most clearly by Klikz, who experiences Alice’s act as both threat and temptation, and who must convert that mixture into violence in order to stabilize his own identity. His denunciations of degeneracy are indistinguishable from his arousal. His gender panic masks a deeper libidinal crisis: he wants what he hates and hates that he wants. But it is not Klikz alone. The text shows how the state apparatus itself participates in this libidinal economy. The Chairman, who soils himself and speaks in deranged slogans, is not a parody—he is the fascist father in full Reichian form: decrepit, obscene, yet still the object of national devotion. His power depends not on strength but on infantilism—his inability to speak coherently or control his own body is reframed as authenticity, even sanctity. He does not command; he demands affirmation. The chant of the YES movement—“Say no? That’s a YES”—is the purest expression of fascist logic: the obliteration of negation, the collapse of difference, the eroticization of submission. Deleuze and Guattari’s Anti-Oedipus provides a further analytic of this movement. Fascism, for them, is not merely authoritarianism; it is a desire for repression. The fascist libidinal formation does not simply want to dominate others—it wants to be dominated, to find pleasure in the annihilation of ambiguity, the foreclosure of choice. This is staged explicitly in the text through the spectacle of Saint Ray Ray’s sermons, the YES Party’s rallies, and the judicial theater in which Alice is commanded to explain herself. The society of the text does not tolerate her silence because her refusal to signify means no one else’s submission can be complete. Her ungoverned presence creates a space where law, identity, and desire cease to align. She is the gap in the fascist chain. The ALICE D. APP and its failures also resonate with Deleuze and Guattari’s analysis of how capital intercepts and redirects desire. The app is not simply an object of control—it is the utopian fantasy of totalized libido under capitalism: an artificial subject who never refuses, who is always personalized, who conforms to every demand. Its failure is not technical but structural. What Alice represented—an act of pleasure and care that could not be translated into content—cannot be replicated because it was never compatible with the circuit of fascist desire. The real cannot be coded. It can only be chased, punished, and copied. At every stage, fascism in the play operates not as censorship, but as proliferation. The YES movement, the Chairman’s decrees, Klikz’s streams, Ray Ray’s monetized sermons—all are saturated with speech, with signage, with meaning. But none of this is communication. It is production—of affect, of loyalty, of identification through repetition. This is not the suppression of desire but its overproduction. The system must flood every space with representations of Alice in order to prevent anyone from noticing that she is no longer there. That is the final form fascism takes in the play: the saturation of absence. Alice, by the end, is everywhere—on screens, in courtrooms, in apps, in closets, in memes—but she is nowhere to be touched. Her real presence, her silence, her refusal to be explained or corrected, is gone. And this absence generates its own kind of panic, one the system cannot resolve. So it claps. It plays Tommy. It stages a concert in which nothing is remembered and everything is replaced. The erotic charge that runs through Alice D. Eats the Pink Fillet is not incidental, gratuitous, or merely provocative. It is foundational. The entire social machine that arises to process and punish Alice is animated by erotic energy: repulsion, attraction, arousal, shame. And this eroticism is not neatly aligned with morality or ideology. What the text does—devastatingly, relentlessly—is to expose how the apparatuses that claim to police desire are themselves structured by it, compelled by it, even addicted to it. There is no anti-erotic position within the text. Even condemnation is a mode of arousal. Consider first the visual trigger: Alice and Elephina behind the dumpster, in a scene of transgenerational queer pleasure so specific and unmarketable that it must immediately be transformed. The act is not just lesbian sex; it is explicitly gerontophilic, physically abject, laced with drugs and history and an atmosphere of tenderness too intense to be digestible. The state cannot process this act because it is not narratable within any existing erotic category that can be safely moralized or sold. And yet it is charged—undeniably, viscerally—with erotic presence. It is intimate. It is care. It is hunger. And it cannot be allowed to stand. The reaction to this act—by Klikz, by Ray Ray, by the Chairman and the YES—is staged as moral panic, but it is plainly masturbatory. Klikz, in particular, is the most immediate conduit for this contradiction. He performs outrage in the language of erection. His invective is stuttering, his condemnation soaked in Hochdeutsch moaning and fetishistic fantasy. He is not aroused despite his hate; he is aroused through it. The body of Alice becomes the hinge point around which these libidinal contradictions accumulate. Reich saw this clearly: fascist sexuality is not the repression of desire but the redirection of it into structures of domination and subjugation. Klikz masturbates to the very scene he decries because his desire is fully structured by prohibition. Without Alice to denounce, he has no erotic orientation. But it is not only Klikz. The entire text is drenched in erotic transference. The courtroom becomes a theater of forced confession and silent exhibition. Saint Ray Ray’s content farm is both a Sunday school and a sexcam operation. The father, Dmitri, mourns his daughter by eroticizing her memory and selling disciplinary fantasies to other families. What the text refuses to do is separate these flows. There is no “pure” erotic domain untouched by the ideological machine. The repression is never complete, because it is never really repression—it is modulation, a rechanneling of desire into forms that produce submission and shame and moral branding. This is where the text performs its most brilliant inversion. The acts most clearly framed as “degenerate”—lesbian sex, public oral pleasure, crossdressing, masturbation, age-inappropriate attraction—are never actually condemned by the play. They are described in their full intensity, with visceral and lyrical language, but they are not mocked or morally flattened. In fact, they are the only moments in the play that feel real, thick, alive. Alice and Elephina behind the dumpster; Klikz in her closet, trembling in stolen clothes; even the absurd tenderness of Elephina strapping a phallic device on Alice and blessing her before returning to her gaggle of young lovers—these are not jokes. They are scenes of desire that escape easy representation. They are what Bataille would recognize as moments of inner experience: non-productive expenditure, excessive and uncontainable. What is condemned in the text is not perversion but recuperation. What is shown as obscene is the machine that consumes the erotic, sanitizes it, sells it, and demands its repetition. The Alice D. App is the perfect form of this: a customizable pleasure device that promises everything and delivers nothing. The user wants an obedient Alice, a sexy Alice, a morally redeemed Alice, a disciplined Alice. But what they cannot have is the Alice who existed behind the dumpster, with Elephina, in a moment that no market could translate. The App fails not because it is insufficiently advanced, but because it attempts to simulate what was never representable. The erotic in the play is not replicable. It is evental. It happens, and then it is over. To re-stage it is to miss it. To repackage it is to annihilate it. This is why the text ultimately aligns with Georges Bataille and even with Deleuze and Guattari’s notion of desiring-production. The erotic is not an object to be possessed or a symbol to be decoded. It is a process, an intensity, a transgressive crossing of boundaries that the symbolic cannot sustain. Alice is not desirable in the pornographic sense. She is desirable in the sacred sense. She becomes the limit point beyond which the culture cannot go without dissolving its own coherence. That is why she must be punished. That is why she must be copied. That is why she must be rendered mute, and then vinyl, and then ghost. But the text does not mourn this. It celebrates what is unrecuperated. It honors the unspeakable joy of that first act. It does not apologize for the strangeness of desire. In fact, its politics reside precisely in refusing to sort good sex from bad, clean from dirty, moral from immoral. It shows how every effort to regulate desire ends up eroticizing its own authority. And it shows how, in the cracks of that system, people still find each other—behind dumpsters, in closets, on mesas, in failed simulations—and touch, and breathe, and fuck. In this way, Alice D. is not just critical. It is erotic theory by way of drama. It stages what cannot be diagrammed. And then, quietly, it lets her disappear—unreconciled, but unviolated. OPTIMISM OF THE WON'T Everything in Alice D. Eats the Pink Fillet suggests a world in collapse: a culture so addicted to moral performance and digital surveillance that it cannot tolerate unmarketable pleasure; a political order that reanimates fascist form through hollow populism and infantilized tech-celebrity; a family structure broken so completely it reconstitutes itself as a disciplinary cult; a sexuality consumed entirely by projection, shame, and repetition. The narrative marches with escalating clarity through mechanisms of repression—not as errors, but as functions. Alice is punished, not for chaos, but for clarity. She does not “represent” anything. She does something no one knows how to metabolize. And so she becomes a target for every institution that needs to make its own failures into someone else’s story. The first reading—the obvious one—is deeply negative. A runaway girl is criminalized for loving a body that the culture has declared unlovable. She is hunted, reified, judged, commodified, replicated, denied death, and finally discarded. Each attempt at intimacy is intercepted by the mechanisms of control. Each attempt at silence is interpreted as defiance. Her father sells her memory. Her haters become her imitators. The people who want her erased also want her programmed. She can’t escape, not even into the grave. The album becomes a grotesque—intentionally, intensely so. The songs echo with cumshot fascism, masturbation monologues, mock-trials as musical numbers, CEOs speaking in tongues while selling AI girlfriends, boys in closets whispering YES to their own desire while screaming NO in public. The world it paints is absurd, toxic, flooded with images of Alice, none of which are her. Every institution fails by succeeding. This is a world where every gesture of outrage becomes arousal, where every sermon is a sale, where every revolution is merchandised before it begins. It is a theater of enforced consent, a carnival of postmortem eroticism, an algorithmically enforced nightmare. But this grotesquerie—this maximalism, this saturation—is not the endpoint. It is the condition through which another meaning emerges. Because through all of this, Alice never gives the system what it wants. She never explains herself. She never accepts the roles on offer. She never makes her act palatable. And even when she seems absent—vanished, replaced by apps, mocked by clones, erased by narrative—the truth of her refusal endures. Her silence does not fade. It resists resolution. What the grotesque exposes is that the system is exhausted. By the final act, the YES movement can only chant; Ray Ray is selling broken apps; Klikz’s erotic life is dependent on cosplay and contradiction; the courtroom cannot force Alice to participate, and the nation’s last gesture is to stage a concert using a misremembered rock opera because they have nothing else left. The spectacle breaks down. The system cannot process her. It can only play her song. And this is where the optimism emerges—not from triumph, not from redemption, but from withdrawal. Alice does not win, but she exits. She becomes something the machine cannot use. A record. A sound. A presence without legibility. The very tools meant to capture her—the camera, the stream, the app—fail. They leave gaps. In those gaps, she remains. This is not nihilism. It is the return of something sacred. The culture of Alice D.—its filth, its brutality, its spectacle—believed it could master desire. But it could not. Desire slipped out through the cracks. Through the tongue on old flesh. Through the quiet in court. Through the closet door. Through the vinyl hiss. And at the end, the world that tried to program her can only stutter and clap. The optimism of Alice D. is not naive. It is not narrative. It is structural. The machine cannot win because it cannot fully code the Real. Alice’s act—at the start—was never just transgression. It was something else: a refusal to perform. And that refusal, once recorded, began to circulate—not as message, but as residue. In the end, Alice becomes what cannot be re-integrated. Not because she’s exceptional, but because she remains stubbornly literal. Her pleasure was real. Her silence was real. Her disappearance was not a metaphor. And in that, she survives—not as image, not as brand, but as the memory of something unrepeatable. And something still possible. That’s where the album leaves us. Not with catharsis, but with the haunting. Not with revolution, but with the knowledge that even in total saturation, even in grotesque repetition, something real can still refuse to be converted. That, finally, is its optimism. The world ends in applause—awkward, uncertain, alive. *** THE ORIGIN STORY: This libretto takes the juvenile chaos of something like Mad Magazine and warps it into a queasy, unrelenting mirror—one that laughs with you, then shames you mid-laugh, especially if you were turned on. It's built from the DNA of lowbrow parody, bathroom stall graffiti, and adolescent horniness, but it mutates those elements into something deeply uncomfortable. The satire isn’t just crude—it’s perverse in the moral sense, because it knows how desire works, especially the kind you’re not supposed to admit. It weaponizes that knowledge, pushing the audience to confront how much of their media diet is already soaked in commodified shame and voyeurism. It’s also a vicious exorcism of American cultural rot, using absurdity the way a funhouse mirror uses curves—to show you something more real than realism. All the symbols of decency—Christianity, fast food, patriotism, tech innovation—get dragged into the same filthy trashpile and humped until they confess. And at the center is a queer, ungovernable figure who refuses to be a clean metaphor. Every time the story offers you catharsis, it pulls it back and dares you to ask why you ever wanted it. It's not satire for cleverness’ sake—it’s trying to make you laugh, cringe, and see the sickness in what you thought was just a joke. But more than that—it wants you to admit your sick little thoughts. Not because they’re justified. Not because they’re righteous. But because they were planted in you, cultivated by media, by repression, by shame, by algorithms that know your heart better than you do. The libretto demands honesty: that you do not transcend these fantasies, but recognize them, hold them up to the light, and let them rot properly. It tells you that your brain was built in a lab of contradictions, that your arousal has been hijacked by everything from church sermons to commercials to comment sections—and that, yes, you should laugh. Not to absolve yourself. But because laughter is the only space left where the circuit breaks. This tradition stretches back to even before the grotesque—to the ancestral urge to offend as a form of revelation. Think of Diogenes, defecating in public and mocking Plato, living in a jar and calling it freedom. His cynicism wasn’t nihilism—it was theater, a provocation to show how much of “civilization” was built on repression, hierarchy, and self-deceit. From there, this libretto’s lineage winds through Aristophanes’ lewd and slanderous comedies, through the Roman satirists who blurred public critique with personal kink, and into the medieval carnival—a ritualized reversal of norms where peasants mocked priests, and kings played fools, and laughter was dangerous because it was true. Only then do we arrive at the grotesque as a literary form—Lautréamont in the 19th century, whose Maldoror fused beauty and horror into one unholy, seductive mass. He stripped Romanticism of its moral hope and instead wrote from the place where violence, sexuality, and spirituality become indistinguishable. That same impulse animated Punch magazine’s caricature-driven satire in Victorian England, which often upheld power but just as often let the mask slip—showing a world where public virtue and private perversion were the same face, flipped. By the mid-20th century, American satire picked up the knife. Mad Magazine, National Lampoon, and underground comix turned juvenile humor into a weapon, attacking the hypocrisies of Cold War suburbia, sexual repression, and consumer conformity. Their dick jokes weren’t apolitical—they were a form of rage. They showed that the so-called innocence of American life was already soaked in cartoon violence, softcore desire, and capitalist manipulation. Frank Zappa took that further—his dadaist rock operas made no attempt to heal the sickness. Instead, he amplified it. He showed that media, religion, patriotism, pornography, and identity politics were all part of the same psychosexual surveillance machine. And he laughed—not to dismiss it, but to survive it. That’s what ties this tradition together—not just aesthetic vulgarity, but a moral commitment to exposing the lie at the center of propriety. These works don’t want to free you from your shame. They want you to admit it, to recognize it was engineered into you, that your sickest fantasies were implanted through repetition and denial. This libretto is part of that bloodline. It doesn’t pretend your desires are innocent or natural—but it insists that you acknowledge them, because that’s the only way not to be ruled by them. It refuses resolution, refuses narrative cleanliness. It dares you to hold your gaze on the contradiction. Not to fix it—but to feel it. To laugh, and gag, and maybe like it.