There are 8 paths to Eagles style love making. You’re driving your Maserati up the coast from Frincton, CA. You stop at Dooglie’s cone shop, where your woman tells you she’s PREGNANT – and, bonus, “it’s your brother’s”. You leave her there, to contemplate FROOG-STYLE sundae cones, as you drive faster up that coast highway, till the mugshot women find you, dried out and desperate, not far from San Diego – and your cart hauler spirit is dragging fumes.
There are more cat tears in your sea of love than love bars in your ocean of beers.
There are more bat turds in your chili bun, than your honey bunch munches on sparrow marrow and glass hog candies, on WEDNESDAYS.
THERE ARE XORX MINES where the witches lurk. There work is complete on each NEW FRIDAY, after the scarlet moss settles and the bustle of the endeavor is over. No more COOL TIME CHARLIES for these minx bitches … And if you could hear them scream? – you’d know some lucky “Mark” or “Chad” got had, and ended up in the VITAMIX, and is ready to feed TRIX the CAT, with a hint of cilantro … and they don’t mistreat hoes no more.
There are 2 obelisks glowing on Norg Mountain. The topless frolickers sell pterodactyl wine, and the sun sets on the last empire of COOM. My lost lover found her way to that green valley where the elf merchants danced and the wolf masters sharpened their swords for battle. Sure, the battle would be held in the empty expanse, beyond the great desert, where the puddle flowers bloom. And my jeopardy chances are low, and THERE ARE ways to overcome skuzz-terror.
There are OLD STYLE PANDA EXPRESS stores in Grinken Town, not far from where they held that Satanic ritual 5 years ago. Dusty boots and grease stained jeans march slowly, onward, to SCOMPTON and the trumpeters of BOBLIMPTOCK can be heard miles away. The RED BEAR hides in the woods, awaiting his prey fury; it was his cane soul yearning for that JEDI style sweet and sour panda that made the darkness come. And once the recipe for MCNUGGETS was revealed? – all the joints stole the point and injection molded SADNESS into silicon forms. And out comes these things, made of panda and chicken, and you’re finger licking good at acceptance now … your 5 stages complete.
There are Mexican jumping-beans hunting the walrus near the Castle of Steel …
There are jack-o-lantern beer badgers making money off of wagering: which surfer will be eaten by a shark FIRST.
There are TREE DOCTORS, stuck in the bush, as the lush undergrowth bring out the lusty hands … and the grabbing and stroking leads to 9 months of captured effluence and sewer baby nightmares.
There are TORCH CARRIERS, in South Carolina, wearing coffee filters and chanting “MAGA … MAGA … MAGA”, but their custom underwear is leeching asbestos.
There are times we get trapped by robot boomers and nonsense coomers and zoomers wearing onesies and picking posies by the way …
There are GREAT MINI-VAN squadrons, of white women with frowns and dead eyes and jaundice from too many boosters. They form gangs and look for BIG TRUCKS and BIG GUNS and big winnings at the broken slot machine near 7/11.
There are light bringers, from thousands of light years away, who have ships of crystal titanium and jergin-style meat cushions. All the bodies get dumped.
There are the lost KENTUCKY COWBOYS, those who hunted DICK JAMES and WAYNE TORPSON. They had these six shooters that fired .700 nitro express and nobody messed with them, ever. After fighting and drinking all day? – they’d hang out at Trev’s Pub, and fight and drink all night. Kevin, the sheep thief, burns with that dinnertime frustration and the triangle clings, and the buffet party begins at Donner Pass.
There are faerie tale wonders, stuck in between hurricanes and tempests.
There are dolphins which talk to squirrels.
There are SKY HAWK SHAMAN reaching into your pocket, to sell you a SKY HAWK dream.
There are too many ways to die …
There are too many waiting to live.
There are …
And then …
There are not …
Until there is someone to take out the trash, there is …
And there are …