It’s the Apocalypse

I need glasses for this action.

I also need an accidental sundress — but I guess then it would be

on purpose?

I also need fifteen psychiatrists.

That Pearl Jam falls in the realm of “some irrational fears” is a special,

“it’s the apocalypse” kind of justice.

(I’m listening to a mix CD of Pearl Jam bonerjams right now.

 Coincidence?)

The news says mooncalves are bowing in obeisance to Solipsistic Toddler’s

sore leg / vibrating toddler diphthong project.

Me, I’m taking a page from a victorious hyena by making

bubble tea in the presence of my enemies.

My boba runneth over.

National Clean Your Manhole Day was April 4th.

Such sugar, such butter. Such cat saliva!

Cuckold Cleanup was also in progress!

Personally, I LOVED the congealed atonal notes

of the butterscotch.

At the moment of totality, it’s gonna be Weed Cousin VS

Golden Boogie Daddy VS Facial Herpes Phenom VS

Legendary Emo Mope VS Uncle Junior making

knuckle sandwiches

at the knuckle factory,

though I feel that’s gonna be

Uncle Junior’s thing.

Jesus.

With jellybean smegma everywhere,

it has to end with Jesus

(Collaged from comments on my posts from last and this year’s NaPoWriMo)