We botched the tressle, didn't we? Maybe our Black & Milds had their
own ragged up sicked up perspiration. Grr, grandpa ecosystem. Doug Fir
fuck sitter. Hut one, hut two, hut three, hut? Old dirty bastard live
and uncut. I will wear Steve Jobs as a mock turtleneck. Regal dianetics.
Feeble Shakespeare, feeble tidings of comfort and joy. Pikes, spite of
the right. Tide of the devil's paisley. Piers of the rag time and told
Osh Kosh. Tail draggers poll Keats. Rugs that say Steely Dan. We pairs
of cauterized Diebold forced hands. We were Caulkin down alleyways, what?
Prized kegs lude their way through afterthoughts. Krill in mother's
throat. Poly bags full of Kaiser Chiefs. Dollops of pall bearing kids.
Citi Bank fucks Wal-Mart and gives Wal-Mart Hepatitis C. The kids pay.
All warring quarterbacks everywhere drown themselves in Koi ponds.
Maybe it's my impulse or maybe it's codeine. Or this jug wine braggart.
Jobbers pluck sweat from their necks. Bastards dug mild blacks from the
ways. The maple is seersucker the lemon drops covered in soliloquies.
My raincoat tells me from time to time that I am maybe too big to miss.