*****The Yom Kippur***** being yummy, and a Kitty with a Ball of Yarn~

Often others hitch and hover, to shovel a “Dam” or saucy sucker, vacuum on vacation, to Praise The Nation USA #1 in 30 trillions of dollars spent, now The National Debt unfolded, unflopped into a pouffy top of the CAPITOL HILL—marched men wearing squeeze into the Soul Train of bleak morbidity, a kind of pleasantry to ease “The Load”—when such as swimmers sea-quined bathing-tubes and OH SO RUDE!

Ease up in leaps to pique a prude in a hoodie, belligerent swap ’n’ ping (???) on the Deodorant, swayed swipes of CC#’s and wearing Red, White, and Blue typed “STRIPES” flexes the arm’s bicep muscle—look at Vin Diesel’s “Pipes”—to take a pull take a puff and when you’ve had enough, inhalants, Queen Ant and Soldier Rat- to tie a shoulda go with OOFOS missing laces—this too, tied in two, no bow and hoops, oh woops, oh them Wop’s Guinea pigs eating Newton, Figs, go figure out my words along a “String” hear them sign the sweet notes and sung, a package, and hung like a—got Junk in the Trunk? Kindle “Jinx” on audiobook undisturbed and unfounded, raw meat and pounded...

What-so to make of this mess in a sequined pink dress of Barbie whose man is Ken-neither Cole of stuffed STALKERS, the creeps with their crepes oh crap—I’ve been called a “Creeper” but NEVER a bellowed weakening gaze clouded and salted on a piece of pizza and/or Pretzels—never my choice to chew the “chaw”—sans gums gone raw and wavy it’s little miss Davey from DAN-vers, saying it with my coiled voice—when used a Voucher troubled “Snatch-er” drinking Apple Snapple on the computer-machine ,

My keystrokes so fine, without any alcohol of Red, Red Wine, of “Breeder’s Digest” with a gulp and a tussle of them intimidated musculature with superb curbs... When a Walker is required tromping the turns with the freedom of Footsie and Tootsie rolling wheels on them Walker (Dr. Bob of Creative Witting at WSU) creature comfort forlorn, my pages scorned to the Garage—of what Garbage?—want Cabbage?—an Irish feast of spicy sausage and stormy soup, when the “Hennessy” Hen messy, it flew the “coop”—oh shit! but serenity of when once I hit it ’n’ quit the drinking of ZERO ALCOHOL for more years than an iron-clad fist can muster! Daddy Dead Dearest, he’s missed the point, he was locked into “the joint” when people having had reason The Family Treason—to think—someone has screwed up worse than I, so being so glad—he was a faulty member of . . . oh hmmm about this, Mr. Deeds—the movie’s title reads a nasty burn, let the legs in the air, me pretending there was no body hair—brownish eyed and stared at the stairway to Descent with that funny sorta smell in the air, computing yum call it “soil” with no care, this when unraveling a real “REALM OF HELL!”

Take it to the Bank,

Disgusting John, to

SPANKS for fucking me! 💩