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 balls I’m swimming in.). “Yes you do.” “Can you try?”
Ya swimmin’ little fishies!
