“Wild West”

Slammin’ the fit-o-deena–ground lengthwise across a bawdy expanse of thneeds
(which everybody needs)–we took our serenades elsewhere, confident in our knowledge of the occult (i.e. the back-stabbery and latent overall treachery that sorts itself out over the course of dozens of generations) and its ability to stall disbelief as one would when faced with a Mel Brooks-esque (or, to a lesser extent, Mel Blanc-ish) dilemma involving the safety of an entire town, where the hapless protagonist even agonizes over the insignificant-yet-unique blood splotch patterns on each and every last hitching post (with the hopes of creating a permanent photographical installment at the Getty and cementing his status as one of the pioneers of pre-modernized main street massacre legacy documentation that would span the seldom-understood and often-demonized “Wild West” (that is, if he has anything to say about it)).

Delirium

Delirium be me middle name, aye.
Ye may also call me the grossest,
most indefatigable shroom tripper,
spawned from the native
egalitarian egret something or other
in combination with a spokesperson
for our most advanced bleach formula,
now carcinogen-free!*

*New carcinogens are being discovered every day, and we cannot guarantee your safety beyond the scientific accomplishments hitherto hailed as gospel among most legitimate collectives of scientists. Please keep this information in mind when shopping around for your next purchase of laundry detergent, particularly when using cash, debit or any other payment method that typically doesn’t involve built-in spending incentive programs.

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