I mourn for my lost guinea pig Petey. It's

I mourn for my lost guinea pig Petey. It's been five years now. I still make it a tradition to visit his gravesite. It's out by the projects. Next to the heroin dealer.

It kind of annoys me because I never recall Petey liking heroin that much. Being a guinea pig, his tolerance was pretty low, but he survived. The irony is, it was the

junk that helped him fall in love with jazz. Petey the Guinea Pig couldn't play a wind instrument, but he ran up and down the piano's keyboard. Once in New Orleans, after I fixed

my clarinet, we started to tour bars in the area. New Orleans is a tough place for any new act, and they were slow to accept Petey's piano style. Guinea pigs' paws are nimble but

the guitar wasn't made for them. Still, that doesn't stop Bob the guinea pig from trying to play one. He had always wanted to be the best guitar player ever and by being in this ba

rred cell filled with the aroma of hollister cologne he soon realized that he must inject doses of heroine to escape this dirty prison. Upon feeling the euphoric sensations he then

felt magical superpowers swelling in his belly and growing at an alarming rate. He flew right out of prison and straight to the mall where he he used his new mind control powers to

They began bawking nesting & were rather peckish, but the problems started when they crossed the road for that was a fowl proceeding indeed. He tried to use his magic mind control

but it didn't work. He knew when he was beaten and went home. It was a bit anti-climatic all in all.