Death of a Rattwok

One day. Observed.

Scores of mothers. ...and counting.

The crazed fly but can land here if they like.

Got this. Read this. Know this. Write this.

My home away from home away from home away from home.

There are those who would believe that I have nothing better to do with my time than watch and expound the spinning heavens. They would be right.

...more than several times I have found myself having spaghetti with sausage, chicken, cow beef, radishes or some other meat shoved down my starving pipes.

One for each pack. And not in vain. There are those who throw. There are those who miss peds when they through. There are those who do not.

If you can't catch it then you probably shouldn't and well... lucky enough I don't. Neither do you. Oftenly.

I have an axe in my closet. I use it. They use it. And thanks for it for I shall never be another man's complete sucker.

Beatings are severe. Healing is slow. Tolerance is high. Death is not imminent.

I can fail. You can fail. We can fail together.

Juxtaposition. Locking on.

Long. Wrong. Pockets though? Oh yeah. Bring em on.

It may take thirty to yield six but the day is always what the day is wont. As it ought.

All day. And all night.

1.9GHz still gets picked up most days and nights all across the country.

Indiana Jones scripts of prognoses.


...so thanks