. . .

Neverneverneverland

Antipoetry! Poetry in which everything but the last word rhymes. Ahem:

Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow. There she had the little lamb, it's screech was quite a smorgasboard.

No, no, no, needs work. Work that I am not prepared to give it. Work that I will avoid with my utmost strength until the day that I finally crawl, gasping, to a halt, my tendons sticking out in sharp relief. Not my bones, though. My bones are still covered in a protective layer of somethingorother. Probably fat, though you can never tell these things for sure. Maybe something else. Something evil. It has to be evil, as I have not yet brought up death and mayhem in this email, so you all are wondering what happened. So. Evil fat. Yes.

I'm not sure where I was going to go with the evil fat. I mean, if it's stuck to my body, there's not much room for improvement. Even if it whispers evil thoughts to me in the night, there's not a lot else it can do. It's attached to my body. At least with a hand, if I die it could be transplanted to some innocent person and it would then start killing people, but fat? No one wants a fat transplant. And not very much fat, at that. I'm not exactly chubby, over here. If I was enormous, at least it could smother people. It keeps trying to persuade me to go off my diet so that it might grow, but since I'm not _on_ a diet the tactics are unlikely to be successful. (Fat has never been noted for its brains.)

Yes. I said if. I'm not convinced that I'm going to die. Or at least, not until I'm really, _really_ bored. I've been bored before. I've been really bored. I've even been _really_ bored. But not that bored.

California was a) a cesspool of lust and passion, b) three gooks and a carnival (an evil carnival? No. Shut up.), or c) a chance to visit friends and family. Pick one. Any one, as long as you realize there's a two-in-three chance of you being wrong. Being wrong carries the death penalty. There is no appeal. You are in a higher court now. You are in The People's Court.

Appearing now are our victims, um, contestants, I mean plaintiffs. Presenting the state of Missouri vs. everyone else in the universe. A courageous move there on Missouri's part. Judge Harold T. Stone presiding. "Wacka wacka wacka!" No. Judge Julius Ceasar presiding. "Friends, Romans, Countrymen, I sentence you all to 90 days." Objection! Marc Antony made that speech! Overruled. If you're looking for precision, try the Texas Caliper Company, down the street and make a right on Hamilton. Boredom. Ennui. Angst. No, I don't think the court scene will continue. Maybe some other time.

Lackluster today. Probably has to do with the fact that I'm bored and hungry and badly in need of *censored censored censored*. I am filled with The Void. We go now. Again later.