If you have openly weeping sores all over your body you should try to cheer them up. Buck up ‘lil puss hole, you’ll get your scab soon, you should say. Buy them a Happy Meal, but make sure you don’t get the salty one, the Mc Salt Combo, because open sores don’t like them. And not if the toy is one that makes noise, because I don’t like those ones and you’re lucky I even let you in here with those sores. Put some pants on.
I invented my own happy meal. You take Rice-a-Roni or Kraft Dinner or Toast and pour 18-27 grams of cocaine on it then you grind it up and mix it with vodka and inject it under your toenails. There’s no toy.
But you can get toys from most children. The majority can’t defend themselves very well, and frankly they’re not that bright. You give a six year old a head-fake and they’ll go for it every time. Also if you ask them if they can see their own ears they spin around.
It’s pretty funny. If you get enough of them going you can play Battling Tots out on the patio. Try to get a fat one, they spin longer due to inertia and because they’re stubborn. Dogged, even.
I wrote a poem. Actually my shopping list happened to rhyme. Actually I didn’t write it. I read it in a book of shopping lists, Under An Auburn Sky. I thought it was going to be an adventure story about some people who lived on a planet with a sky the colour of pure auburn, due to massive auburn fires burning in the core, but instead it wasn’t.
I invented my own happy meal. You take Rice-a-Roni or Kraft Dinner or Toast and pour 18-27 grams of cocaine on it then you grind it up and mix it with vodka and inject it under your toenails. There’s no toy.
But you can get toys from most children. The majority can’t defend themselves very well, and frankly they’re not that bright. You give a six year old a head-fake and they’ll go for it every time. Also if you ask them if they can see their own ears they spin around.
It’s pretty funny. If you get enough of them going you can play Battling Tots out on the patio. Try to get a fat one, they spin longer due to inertia and because they’re stubborn. Dogged, even.
I wrote a poem. Actually my shopping list happened to rhyme. Actually I didn’t write it. I read it in a book of shopping lists, Under An Auburn Sky. I thought it was going to be an adventure story about some people who lived on a planet with a sky the colour of pure auburn, due to massive auburn fires burning in the core, but instead it wasn’t.
It never is. I said put your pants on.
2 comments:
I prefer to read with my pants off, thanks.
Now, Mrs Joe doesn't read the blog, but the comments come to our joint email. This oughta be good.
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