I can't say it any better than he did. From the back of the album:
This album contains seven dance pieces, each with a story and built-in 'sound effects.' The style is 'pre-posterously non-modern.'
In "THE PERFECT STRANGER," a door to door salesman, accompanied by his faithful gypsy-mutant industrial vaccuum cleaner (as per the interior illustration on the "CHUGA'S REVENGE" album cover), cavorts licentiosly with a slovenly housewife.
We hear the door beel, the housewife's eyebrows going up and down as she spies the nozzle through the riffled curtain, the sound of the little bag of 'demostration dirt' being sprinkled on the rug, and assorted bombastic interjections representing the spiritiual qualities of chrome, rubber, electricity, and household tidiness. The entire transaction is being viewed from a safe distance by Patricia, the dog in the high chair.
"NAVAL AVIATION IN ART?" shows a sailor-artist, standing before his easel, squinting through a porthole for inspiration, while wiser men sleep in the hammocks all around him.
"THE GIRL IN THE MAGNESIUM DRESS" is about a girl who hates man and kills them with her special dress. Its light-weight metal construction features a lethal pointed sort of micro-Wagnerian breastplate. When they die from dancing with her, she laughs at them and wipes it off.
"OUTSIDE NOW, AGAIN"" show the entire cast in an endless soup line. The pitiful sustenance (dished out by people dressed to look like grant-givers from the National Endowment for The Arts) is perfectly suited to minimalist choreography.
"LOVE STORY" features an elderly Republican couple attempting sex while break-dancing.
"DUPREE'S PARADISE" is about a bar on Avalon Boulevard in Watts at 6:00 AM on a Sunday in 1964, during the early morning jam session. For about seven minutes, the customers (winos, musicians, degenerates & policemen) do the things that set them apart from the rest of society.
"JONESTOWN" concludes the album with a boring, ugly dance evoking the essential nature of all religions. A person pretending to be a messenger from God bangs on the side of the communial beverage tub with the skull of a former child, silently mouthing the words, "Come and get it!".
All material contained herein is for entertainment purposes only, and should not be confused with any other form of artistic expression.
Why should I burden you with my opinion on this album? Haven't you already heard enough opinions to last you several dreadfully dull lifetimes? Are you not sick and perhaps a bit tired of the constant conversations involving opining on everything? Is this why you've gone online? Have we crawled out the primordial muck just to deliver instant anal sass on all things obtainable? I wish I could say that the internet has moved us forward as a species and advanced culture as we know it, but it's the great gaseous exchange of gutter gossip and self-groper graphics. Fifty, a hundred, a thousand years from now who will care what you or I thought about some slightly experimental album? The domains of proper critical opinion and aesthetics have been locked in ivory towers and we are merely barbarians at the gates awaiting our hot oil bath.
Yet I shall continue. Armed with humble hubris and haughty humility, I herald the heretical heritage of the hermit hero. Let the honorable men and women of mass media mock me all they want. I won't crawl back into my cave to watch the shadows dance upon the wall, but I might do an impromptu shadow puppet show. I won't slide back into the sea, though I could use a bath. I won't cower or be corrupted by success, though I would like to be tempted by the latter.
I will stand firm and proud and perhaps lean a little to the left, but still quite proudly humble with the pie to prove it!