Merely clad by feather boas and tatter frock, an elderly hag happened to hip brush with moi by the escalator on the way to the convention of the loons. She then went on to tell me that: her father was a rapist, he wont marry her mother.
And before I could react with a sensible come-back, she's already blessing me with her own personal deity. Instead of a frown or sneer I just smiled at her before I could form the word into my mouth that start with wh_ _ _ and rhymes with a boar. La bastarda was really enjoying the quip and went on her next victim.
I suddenly remembered the afternoon skies where this onion town was adorned by a bright crescent moon. It really brought out the philosopical grandeur among us. Welcome to 2009, when my MMIX bags of nuts are set to expire.
No comments:
Post a Comment
help yourself bitch.