Necessary Past Times

A serious question... have you ever been driving down the road and wanted to swerve and hit the person in the oncoming lane or even just wanted to nudge your way past the cars in lanes one and two because... well because technically there is room there? Now I know what you're thinking... the man must be out of his gourd but let me rebut.



...ok I have nothing to rebut

But if you were there and no one could get hurt would you do it? And before you say no remember you, like I, have raced go carts or bumper cars or bumper boats or put the bumpers up while bowling. If you haven't then really... get it done. But speaking of football and the joys found in playing it (cause honestly watching? I tro not), have you ever wanted to tackle something? Another person? Another person on a bike? Another person in a car... How much more fun would life be if you say... tackled people to say hello? Or to get your food from the drive through you had to jump your car over lava and rotating blades while throwing the change in the coin box and at the same time grabbing your jazz. At the very least americans might get a bit thinner and law suits against old McDonald would be a little more founded.

Really though... I recommend you find the joy in tackling things. Take this baby zebra for example. More fun than you can shake a stick at.

Smells of Victory

I think of DeBere's when I think of my hat
And sothels and botches or something like that
But when you me asked of what is your shirt
I couldn't help think of something but dirt

It's brown and it's sticky (when added to glue)
And has a spice flavor inside of your stew
If left out the door for time in its own
To find it you'll need-to-know where the wind's blown

And think of the trees which can't speak for themselves
Which harbor oft times the chickens and elves
They couldn't stand tall if not for the dirt
And might as well to some small lichen revert

It's good too for things that come in late May
That seem the be crawling round every which way
But thinking a while on-its rich properties
We might think upon what it does in the seas

It settles down slow unless washed up on shore
Which when washed up its like a dude from the Corps
He's in for a while where he's alien
And wishes to float back to where he hence'd been

Cause soil has feelings as few people know
As can be quick seen if you dig in the snow
But that's not the story we're thinking upon
All frozen and hard there on your front lawn

For something I think that's pretty well... quirky
Is dirt likes to make things really quite mirky
And don't you be fooled that it's only in water
That happened one time to an helpless old otter

He-thought he was swimming still inside the lake
But his self was ashore quite far out for a break
Yet this mirk that he saw while up out on the ground
Confused him..... he died thinking he'd drownd

Now that's not to say that dirt is a killer
As that could give rise to some new action thriller
It's kindof inert and it doesn't do much
Except sit there and look or something or such

So like I was saying mirk gravitates
To more than just water or Salah's bad dates
So play in the dirt.. but with full respect
Of its powers to set or destroy or protect

What else don't you know about this pleasant stuff?
When hot it will burn you. I think that's enough.

Flat Notes in Reason

It's middle past mid week. The clothes are on the line. The cat's hung out to dry. I can't really say there's much of a way past the man on the right except for to go left. Left's not what it used to be though, all crampled and jabberecized as we find it. Not causal? I'll show you knot causal. Take the side lain beef and give it a whirl. Cause you can't have it all. And it all can't have you. So remember the second part and sleep through the first. Sometimes you just gots to eat. Sometimes you is Big Time. Then when all that is in the world and holy to your moly, you up and find that pink is not your color and fur is not your first choice in footwear. A word? I believe we've had enough. ...but say on. And on. Wilst we... you know what? The bones be achin' for burning. Of course, I guess you could just take a ride in an MRI or check your self into some kind of solarium or something, but I don't think now is really the time. Let me check.

Nope.

H room? What the jazz is that? And how do I get there? And to what is this fork for? Can it be colored pink? Oh I wonder. As I wander. Yet don't stop to think as you do so. You'ven't the time. That's our lot. Number 357. Just off the docks and into hobbles and drawers of kids from here to San Juan himself. So grab yourself a horsey, strap in the lunch and prepare yourself for a ride through the seventh last grimace of Grommet. You know very well he'll be waiting for you in his wrong trousers. ...or at very least he ought to be. Which in course I too... must away.

Salvation From Above

Only pansies get cold. And you know what? They miss out on some of life's greatest joys. Really. I mean when was the last time that you ran into someone and they said 'so, the other day I was walking through the heat of death and I could feel my insides melting to the core as my brain turned to slosh, but that was rather quite wonderful because the reality of it is that I was able to cook an egg on my head for lunch. I love the heat!' Yeah. Me too. It's like a warm blanket. Of death. ...that you can't escape for any vacationary period nor delay through noon. Too cold for play? Never. Get up and be a man ....or even a woman. Holy Moses!

Oh, and one other thing. If warm is better, answer this. When was the last time it rained 3 feet so you could jump in the precipitation without leaving the premises with a parasite or some manner if dead rat in your teeth? Summer's for suckers. Spring's for lovers. Fall's for receptionists and winter? Well... sadly it appears that's only for people like myself.

I just took a poll.



Try it some time. You'll know you're alive.

Unscheduled Schism

There are two great warring parties. One is really pretty sweet jazz and the other is well... less than average. Of course the real question then comes ... well what kind of warring parties are you preferable to anyway? Burn and pillage? March and pillage? Chant and pillage? Rumble and pillage? Or are just plain pillagers your cup of joe?

...well as you ponder on that, add this to the soup... when is a shroom really a shroom? When it looks like one, or just when it smells like one? And in bringing that up let me tell you one thing. There are two bad times of the year. Every year. No more. No less. Remember though that however hard you try hide a mountain under a mound of dirt in an open field you'll still be able to find it with a gravimeter. Of this you can be sure. He's still there boys.