(As morning breaks over the board sky, Patrick clicks the board jukebox on. He whistles along to Booker T and the MGs’ SHOTGUN. He delights in his remix of CHENEY’S GOT A GUN—sample lyric: “His `values’ cut like a knife. God save us from the `Beast-For-Life.’”—and muses that joke never gets old. Idly, he wonders just _how_ Constance was able to track Diogenes down so well...

As Robert Cray’s SMOKING GUN comes on, there is a sudden silence—then a hideous dry chuckle. With a mutter of disgust, Patrick bites the jukebox; then aims a poster’s AK-47 at it and fires. But nothing will stop the D-man’s SG version as it plays merrily into the night...

“I see a silver phoenix circling
As I escape from the train...
I barely dodge a red cat
Staring evilly through the rain...
I’m having ghastly, ghastly visions...
You vixens—you’re in every one, yeah!
And it’s only luck I dodged those shots—
From that young’ freak’s smoking gun.

How dare you try to end me...
(Granted, _I’ve_ had most all the fun—)
And you knew that my affections...
Were ne’er confined to four—or one
Between you all, me, and my ego...
Hey, isn’t that an even sum?
You should _worship_ my gen’rous, blood-red heart
and my still-hot smoking gun.

(instrumental bridge)

I can hear that syren laughing, my eyes blinded by the sun.
I can’t retain my firm grip—curse that Dr. Forrestal!
How the devil did they find out...
Viola’s my _forever_ one?
Now T-cheese bites... I’m falling...
Into hell’s hot smoking gun...

They’ve tripped me up
Condemmed me to...
Hell’s hot smoking gun
They’ve cooked me good...
Al fresco broiled...
Aw, _damm_...”

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