Just Thinking Things Over (Yet Again)

Hairy Pussy Backscratch Pra(w)ns

"We are a gang," the men shout
and they smile at each other and
wave their clubs and machetes around
overhead and their dicks grow hard near the
pockets of their pants in anticipation.

There are twice as many napkin holders
as there are napkins in the universe,
and twice as many cafes
as there are cafe tables and chairs
and twice as many one-handed orgasms
as there are two-handed orgasms,
and it only makes sense if you think of
it in terms of weight vs. matter.

9% of 3,175 is inexplicable madness
in the debilitating mindshower
of blissful punchings and kickings
and flowering prepubescence.

"Just take a little lick," she said, and
watched with a grin as Melinda
did it.
"It was fucking groovy," Melinda was
overheard saying later, "Just groovy as gravy."

Oh that sapling grew up quick, and sprouted
seeds and all that motherfucking jazz
and life and life and life.

Once upon a time, a settler settled down in
this old patch of grass,
took out a gun,
and blew his head clean off his shoulders,
just like knocking a mailbox off a post
-- a thing of beauty quite literally.

Oh how I love the NORUB, and the twist of
a TWEAK of lime in the passage of time.

Chaos, chaos, sprinkle your name on mine.

This is the birth of death,
or the death of birth,
or whatever.