To be funky. Frozen (no punctuation) Let’s tell one story on this page (the
theme: screwing myself). Always a fish out of water (w/ a case of the feels).
Take S. Deadly Motherpucker Highway to Carmel-by-the-Sea. Skip the Bay
of Monterey and careen south onto Pecker. Take it all the way to the Pacific.
Lunch with Mister Eastwood then hunker down until we’ve blown a few (pp.)..
Make damned sure they’ve come out plural. Pop down to the Cape. Don’t drive
through any hurricanes unless you have time for a few once you arrive. Do
not sleep through any weather! When in Texas, etc. Yesterday, the Pomera
Nians. (quite the pair; how they do always warm my middle). Reminder to
remind him (who needs a good remindin’) to remember that no one needs
to blow it (meaning my mind, mostly; we’ll be funky enough, bra). Ugh,
also, note to barf, Lord of the Cockring’s Confession. I’ll be the one
most desperate to forget. Oh, how I wd much rather have watched
the sun rise with all of ’im, but what a boat of bongos and bananas this is
turning out to be thanks to the jerk that he is as it is already (put these
in the box and jumble ’em). Seriously, I mean, Shake ’em up hard!!! It’s
just that I always wanted to skip the addiction and roll right into some
sort of elevated trance (in an elevator again, no doubt!) (U’s & O’s
from the disco ball I’m swimming in.) “Yes you do” “can you try?”
Ya swimmin’ little fishies!
