Coherency Is Lame

Brainless, brainless, brainless. I'm getting old on Monday. And seeing talking fish. Summer works and laundry beckons but I say "Nay," with finger raised. Will there be enough wind? I'm tired of that old one. Porn is porn is hilarious is awkward because it's hilarious or the other way 'round. Hysterical doesn't fit, but there's nothing better that does. Waiting around for apocalyptic polka song. It's not raining. This isn't helpful at all. Forget it then, and go about your merrier pathways, singing and frolicking in the rain of ash and bodily fluids. Save the date for cheerier weather, avoiding the unclean in the road and hillsides, but never forget I loved it as well as you. It shall wait in the secret places made of glass where you once made a pass at nether regions of that certain someone. In any other way I must say to you now: Ergo, I leave you, ashamed and forlorn in a compromising condition for all the world to take note. Be it far from me to wish it so simply, as you will ne'er be well off the homeworld of our discontent. May the winds of drooling fantasies stay to your back and keep the monsters of uncertainty from from your knees.