"Untyping Written Writing"
I take away all the licenses from kids who run lemonade stands and support the bums who use squeegee sponges to wash dirty cars. Smoke my cigar while eating caviar from a mayonnaise jar. I am resting my head on a pillow and sun tanning myself on a bench in Westchester County. My Mac was fried at McDonald's and I bumped into Harry Burrito on Chatsworth Avenue. In the summertime heat I'm like a Polar Bear getting a chilly reception at all the ice cream shops in suburbia. I'm always running to the local bank to get my free supply of pens. I love to flick my Bic, as I can't afford a Mont Blanc like all the big shot executives.
Oh me! Oh my! Come si, come รงa. Ra Ta, Ta. God Ra! How far do we go? Let our garden grow! We're painting the sun just for fun. Chair is picking at my rear and my nose is so red, it could explode. Life is not to be taken seriously, but with a grain of pepper, which will make all the noses blow up. Blow up in my face, then I'd be in another place in this outer space. I hate the masters' race. They have problems concentrating and belong in summer camps for the winter.
Doc, perform an anal-ectomy on my head and try to find a brain. At vocational school I wanted to be a cowboy, a ship's captain, or an Indian chief. I didn't know the difference and still can't understand it. This life is like a libation in a movie's cartoon animation. P.S. Don't try opening windows with bent forks.
Dedicated to Jake
From Jon Billet
No comments:
Post a Comment