“Ok, what I need to know is,”
his hands shake,
“are you going to help,”
he’s flailing his arms now,
“with this scene, or not?”
The reply is a slap.
(it’s gonna be a staff)
Go outside with a big stick; use it as a gate or a poorly insulated cubical.
Two rednecks will pull up. One will explain what the hell he is doing here.
The same one will suddenly yell “Hey! Honey! I Love You!” before concluding “ain’t Karma a bitch.”
You won’t know what the question is until you write this.
||||||||||
ta ta / ta ta / ta ta, tata:tata
if you ever loved me
and believe in magic
this is the time to cast a spell
Oh, my soul
Main Content
Imagine I’m a mime berating your neighborhood. Fences become scaffolding for my ARGH! skins; I plaster them on everything. Great big ARGHS! on windows and gates and your cul-de-sac becomes my exclamation mark.
By the time you gasp, you’re covered in assorted ARGH! stickers, ARGH! patches, and a cute ARGH! hat.
“Oh, my soul.”
Endnotes
If you imagine that well enough you will understand the public shame I am facing. A collection of plug-ins, scripts, podcast solutions, and possibly Terms of Services, have colluded to destroy my creditability and happiness.