Last chance to enter the ol'
Have you read Josh Abraham's poop-filled exposť,
Say, that's a lovely Beatrice Arthur T-shaped Garment on your chest!
* Enjoy. *
My room is hot. My room is hot and I have spent the last
five minutes staring at my bracelet. My bracelet is old
and the chain is made of some kind of metal that is
supposed to look like silver; I bought it at an antique
store for twenty dollars, I think it is worth about fifty
cents. If I had fifty cents in my pocket I would spend it.
I would turn my pockets inside out and gather up this
fifty cents with all the other pennies and dimes and
nickels that are scattered about my hot room and I would
run to the store and buy a pack of cigarettes even though
I don't smoke anymore and I don't own an ashtray. I would
buy the unfiltered kind of cigarettes that make your lungs
hurt the next morning because my lungs are bad and they
need to be punished. My lungs go up and down all day long,
they never stop. They are irritatingly repetitive; they
are spoiled. I would flip my ashes onto the floor or into
an old Coke can that I could surely find shoved underneath
my bed along with my old college yearbook, three or four
pairs of dirty socks, a worn out portable CD player and my
Resistance is futile. You will SUBMIT.
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© MMIII, Yankee Pot o' Fun