ah, those good old days when a guy could piss in the street and nobody cared now look at us society of nandy-pandy do-gooders righteous hypocrites okay pissing on each other but do not piss in the streets well shit!
wake me up if you see me coming that's all he said and then he was gone she said, is he coming back? I said, do i look like a hat rack? she's coming I'm coming the train's coming and he's coming back now she's gone I'm gone the train's gone and he's lying dead on the train track get up, she cried you lied, I cried there's no where to hide do you think I'm blind? she said, call me at eight I said, don't be late she said, here he comes again I said, well, let him in
throw caution to the wind and what the wind throws back deal with it when the wind stops blowing rule of throw back the very same as the rule of a bum thumb there are not rules for blow backs or blow jobs or snow jobs except for those with bum thumbs of course
life, alone, is our one great teacher our solace over what we have and have not done to ourselves from this, we gather what small peace allowed us and allow our epitaph to be a warning saddest song I've ever heard is the song I've never heard sung by a beautiful bluebird
entrapment as suggested by the monkey in isle four one must never hesitate but still, quietly evaluate when this monkey last ate and whether such relationships would, or should, benefit monkey or monkey's human conception of love, war and hate I've been contemplating whether this represents a tropical illness, or simply bad politics