All of a Sudden

He’s resurrected!
it’s truly a marigold.
But you know what?
It’s this very kind of
garden-variety entendre
that I’ve been meaning to avoid here,
amongst all the sordid
ne’er-do-well activity
that seems to define our times
all of a sudden.

Wasn’t integrity of character
ever something to strive toward?
Maybe not in this system of
checks [cashed] and balances [slashed].

Though perhaps I’m as guilty
as any other layabout milquetoast out there,
lounging around the house
sipping my pink lemonade martinis
(my live-in mixologist’s proprietary recipe)
and grousing like one of my commoner counterparts.

Ilk

Executive injection happenstances color nothing but the most exquisite C-suite big wigs. Why? ROI. ROI is why. Returning overused ivory is the name of the game, people. Got an old Wurlitzer on its last legs? Sell that sucker to us and we’ll do all the schlepping on your behalf. No need to break your back for a little bread in your bank!

Through our groundbreaking proprietary methods, we repurpose old ivory into clones of the elephants you may have seen parading across the Serengeti even just a few generations ago. You see, our goal is not financially-driven. Imagine that!

What’s our hundred year plan? Glad you asked. We’ve set a roadmap that, if followed properly, will reinvigorate the floundering elephant population while balancing numerous other campaigns dedicated to restoring the myriad of other species that have been intimately linked to our favorite pachyderms for longer than our own species’ rise to prominence (as the cockier members of our ilk would say).

Infarction – 03:27GMT

All things considered, today is an ornery gentleman on the verge of a total pulmonary infarction.

So, since we’re all in the same boat, might as well bring our unique benders to the stage and rivet that audience through their tenure in those uncomfortable seats while they’re shifting around, groaning and fumbling with hard candy wrappers.

Exquisite, is it not? That gallant patriarch wrangler has struck again, and he skipped away with six of our proprietary cultures! That devious bastard, I hope they fry him.

Anyway, as I’ve been known to say: the illusion of sterility is wasted on the fertile.

I really wish I could use my arms.