No more wor
rying or pussy
footing around.
No muss no f
uss no eggs
hells. You th
ink I’m sad? W
ell, of course,
said the horse.
It’s a curse to be cl
ung to by not but a
broad with a string
bikini or an equa
tor the size of a
speedo. it would
n’t even matter
if my quicksand
brain knew the
quagmire it was
in (with me). It’s
a good day to boo
gie. Cuz it’s a
good day. Right?
Your kimono’s ask
ance like your, I wan
na say face, but com
mon sense. Since
who wants to be a
millionaire? Not me.
It’s more the being
with the one that gas
ps that automatic ga
sp (the one with the
million). Yr gash &
the electric gas oo
zes in slimy little
streamlets down
your chin. With y
ou, it’s urchin on ev
ery menu. Uni, yo
u say like correct
ive tape for the ty
pewriter. The non
electric kind of type
writer. Like the one
you always use whi
lst riding on your uni
cycle like an urchin.
