Excerpt from the recently discovered audio recordings of the legendary artist, Skeet Giddens, interviewed by a young Arturo Bandini in the Spring of 2014, mere months before the first wave of the apocalypse.

‎"Oh, man, It's fucking repulsive, it's pathetic. What sad heaps we've become. Meat behind a counter, that's what we are. Glistening globs of boiled flesh. Mechanically separated. We are born, we grow fat, heads down at the trough. We shit, we piss, maybe we fuck a little. And then we are butchered, we are butchered alive and we don't even know it... You know, I remember when those towers came down. I predicted it you know. I DID. Many people did. But you know, I thought, I don't know, I thought something would change, I thought people would change. But they only got worse. Everything just got worse. Worse than worse, annihilated. Sometimes I think, yeah, well, you know, Dylan's still alive. What is he now, seventy something? Somehow it helps to know there are other people like that out there. I don't think I'd ever want to meet 'em though. I mean, what's there to say really? I suppose I'd like to check him out, inspect him a little, maybe see what he eats for breakfast or, I don't know, see what his kneecaps look like. I don't know why but for some reason I've always had the desire to see what other people's penises look like. Dylan's is probably pretty small, pretty skinny. Anyway, you know, there's really not much you can do about anything anymore. Art is dead, you know, for now at least, as far as you and I are concerned. That's why I live up here. I get up, I do what needs to be done, and then go back to sleep. There's not much to it anymore. It's the way it needs to be. But hey, people still watch movies. I mean, you're still young, go write a fucking screenplay. Make some money before it's too late. I give it no more than a year or two at the most. Hey, get me another beer will ya. And roll us another joint, fuck, man..."