floss

What Are You Afraid of?

  • telling true purpose of “blog” (nope)
  • the final post
  • Calling James Edmonds

“afraid I’m not”

oh really… Ashley.
then tell the world
about the coffin game;
not “just once bitten”
or berrysweet kitten;
that’s boring ~ go
deeper. Let’s floor.

I mean the one where the
ittsy bittsy spider, in
whiddle wiggwy webb,
thought she caught a fly

she

bahhhhhhh

don’t be so racist bro.

flies live in Japan too

perhaps he flew there

TO you

—————-

web web
now caught
in a proooooblem

in a
web

It was
Of sorts

After all,
I can’t do anything
without your alignment of will
now can I?

isn’t it interesting
how a future kingdom kills itself
by stitches

——-

I hear us say
“throw out old ways”
and cheer with a
gun, with a gong

Sophia…
it’s a damn good thing
I’ll be readin
“Lord of the Flies”
in two weeks time;
and THIS time with
greybeard & scars

the unspeakable ones.
the shadow ones of a Scar lion
manifested in place somewhere
between me, you, and the universe.

the untraceable regions

isn’t
That
ODD

(And not random)

——-//

get grounded
and ask, as an
administrator:

how should a teacher grade his quizzes?

oh speaking of testing things and other boring bullshit for love addicts and sociopaths…

————-

What if Superman’s rocket

landed in communist Russia?

Would they even need a nuke?

Hm?

———-

Thank God for Ma and Pa Kent and little farm in nowhere Kansas

———-

Aa

the unhijaked

What do you call it when
terrorists storm a cockpit
all “Booya Booya” like, bleedin,
and the pilot
turns to em
and smiles all weird
as the doorbolt behind boo and yah
snaps shut

The two terrorists turn with
terrible speed and see a
copilot wide-eyed and
grinnin, guarding access to
the lock.

—-////—-

Some’d call it a suicide.
I’d call it a baaad day
to storm a cockpit and fly.

—-////—

Gentlemen: today we learn how fiction, by its very definition, lies openly, and on purpose. It does not claim to be real

If this was stinging

I’m saaaaaawwwy

But I don’t make

my claws

and cats, in real life,

would never submit,

to a nail job. Some meows bore me.

Like yours.

—/—///—/—

Roars are relative, homies.

Lemme tell ya what Noah knew.

——\|\|\——-

%d bloggers like this: