I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Friday, September 23, 2005
He'd Kick Rita's Ass...
The father lives kind of close to the path of The United States' latest hurricane. It's kind of funny when the only reason for people to start to talk about THE PLANET is when THE PLANET decides to grab us by the nuts and then head-butt us in them.
A head-butt in the nuts is harsh. This is a very powerful thing, to be head-butted in the nuts by THE PLANET. Imagine the OUCH that follows after something like that.
Anyway...I wrote for an hour or two tonight already on other stuff, so this is what you get - the dregs. I've already had to re-spell everything in this and I think that there are things that I've missed.
I don't even know what I'm talking about. You don't either - so we're square.
Is it fair that you don't get quality love-making tonight?
Because I've already spread my seed in other places?
Yes, bitch. Yes.
Now fix me a turkey pot pie.
P.S. Kick Rita's ass, Pops.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hi! Comments! Your FACE is a comment! Huh?