I remember back in 2024 when the Lumps of Chick-Henry used to play at Moxi's Hooblub. The other guys in the dorm would say things like, "Hey, come on, Lumps of Chick-Henry," and we'd go. Lumps of Chick-Henry was great - so dark but with a faint glitter of real brilliance. I loved standing there and absorbing that sheen. Like if you blow out a candle and then there's a pause, and then there's smoke, Lumps of Chick-Henry was just like the pause. I even bought Lumps of Chick-Henry products, like the "Mock-up Wipester." Of course it broke. I went out down to Moxi's and when I got home at 3 am, I found it had fallen and broken into about eighty pieces. I didn't need the souvenir anyway, when I had such a cogni-print.

Later that year things unraveled for TLOC-H. For a bunch of painters sprinting in a dance poise, they found they couldn't even tune the six zithers. They were supposed to be about painting, dance and archery, not spelunking, floor-looming and needlepoint. Oh well! Right - oh well. The hell with oh well, we're talking about tuning up those zithers, and going for another round of Lumps of Chick-Henry. But one night that guy with a spike coming out of his head walked right into Moxi's Hooblub and punched Moxi right in the ear. So then it was mum-being-the-word for Lumps of Chick-Henry. They couldn't tune the four zithers, and both zithers stopped after the ear punch. I wished I had my Mock-up Wipester. They had been so pale but so exuberant. And things became shattered, dull, red and fiery. Really there's nothing to look back upon, just Lumps of Chick-Henry.