Wednesday, August 29, 2018
Knife Shop
-A complete workshop of plastic surgery,
cuts and pastes and trickeries, has moved into my apartment building. I do believe a titty reduction is my pretty future!
-Good! Because you never wash that
training bra. Typical male filth!
-And a Ball Lift after that.
-Just one? Or can’t find the other in
all the residual old fat?
-Hmmm? Maybe Dr Quick-Knife should
excise that latter first?
-Step one of so many...but STOP!
-Whyso?
-Cease and desist! I’m telling me.
For going along with your macho
self-ridicule implies that you’re
still a man.
-I’m not?
-Nah. You’ve reached the age
when it no longer matters.
-Not even fair game for brainless
ridicule anymore?
-No one gives a flying fuck!
-Why put it that mildly? Total mental
and physical mess...and respected!
Christ! Can I step back?
-No way! Reinforced wall!
-So I can be ever so slightly
amusing whilst no one attends?
That’s my very best till expiration?
-Pardon?
Labels: done, friends, macho humor, Old Age, plastic surgery, ridicule, self-ridicule
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Long, Short, Law
I cut them, drink-
ing straws,
multicolored in
a swirling pattern--
to further disappoint you
railing romantics who’d
desire extractions from
an actual bale. Held
by Very Old Kack. As
I, he didn't have to draw:
smelling of dirt, anyway.
The short one to Rence
who loved his AK-47s,
grilled cheese sandwiches,
and Louneen. Quick sentence:
so-elite firing squad sporting
automatic weapons--fellow club
members to wit. Settlement
of 30,000 put by her: half
to gun community summer
camp for underprivileged, other
for her own use. Proved
to be Dr Abel’s treatments
for incipient Turkey-Neck.
Worked, since she acquired
beau week after finishing.
Labels: AK-47, drawing straws, guns, plastic surgery
