Muster muster muster
And cluster. I have no idea. I don’t think you do either. How many miles does it take before you can swing a whole thing of fritos over your head. I have no I dea, but I think one person does not enough language make or destroy or make or destroy. I am not sure. It’s hard. For sure. Some people don’t even aren’t even sure of things, sometimes. I have no idea you can take them anywhere. I mean, maybe you can. I am not sure. Not sure at all. There are broken things. Under her skin. She isn’t sure about that either. What is rapture? How is it manifested when you can’t take things in anymore? Do you have any idea? How many samples do you have? I keep wanting to eat breadsticks but they are no longer available in garlic. Or cheese. It’s depressing. I’m considering suicide if that means, settling for plain. I have no idea where this is coming from. If you know a better way, step right up, step right up and show us howie douitt. It’s your chance. Do your dance. Bring the funk. Bring the chili cheese fries. Or just double them up, gangsta style with a type of meal plan you can get at grandma’s favorite restaurant. Read: old age home. You have no idea which way you can go to. There is downways and upways. Which ways are you going to go? You have no idea, do you? I’m just saying that it’s all uphill from here. I do not have the ability to detect true hunger anymore. I need to be thrown under a desert island. Where sand can fill my throat and I can eat sand until I know what it feels like to forget what food is.

1 for the 369 Crew:

Ty Brownsmith said...

You're old