Mohr Scale of Slickness: A Style Quite Dolby

Listen up, fear biters and submissive pissers: I ignore. I do as I feel inside. I live with me. I got my back, yannowhatimsayin? Yo, G, I'm not playin'. I'll go alone, I don't care. I make it look easy because it is to me.

Tell me if you've heard this one: a pregnant chick walks into a condom store ... and buys a future dog toy for her future toy dog. Get it? Yeah, real life is not so very sexy, it is just so very. No, no, no -- you know what life is? A walking algebra problem, a riddle. You want a good time; easily solved: I want to give you what you want. So, here's one I bet you haven't heard: All of my spades have been played and now? Now the working hour is upon me. I punch boys but not a clock.

I read the last thing you wrote and I liked it, I liked it. But, I gotta say, it weren't no tanka extolling the grace, wit, and pre-ser-veer-ence of your positively gravid bride. Not that I was looking for idolatry, exactly.

There Goes The Neighborhood ("Adventures In Excess" And Other Fairy Tales To Put You To Sleep)

Rules set in contrary motion; opposition, the neck of no-man's land, remove the hyphenation and insert a space for a more feministic bend. Spell-checker don't like "feministic" and dictionary dot meant it to be like the gaffe that is activism but I meant it to be like a concatenation of "feminine" and "deterministic" and where in god's name have I been for all these weeks?? The statcounter set wonders. Wandering points at high altitudes but in short increments because submission to the supplication of two bruised lungs is compulsory; and 2.23 miles above the average ocean makes them beg. I remember the title that I thought of while traveling and it involved many bangs and it was about love or survival or both. Or maybe it was part of an advertisement, on some packaging, some red text behind the cellophane, could've been a National Weather Service announcement, or maybe something he read to me out of one of his periodicals. Hard to recall, couldn't really say now, and I mean: do you realize how much less oxygen is in the air up there? Just enough to cause a rock slide that blocks the road in my mind but so very more than enough to force a 16 hour made-for-TV highway trauma complete with tornadoes and "perform service" indicator lights and -- are you sure that shaving and getting high at the same time is really such a good idea? Hey, Criminal, I'm not judging and I'm not much for them myself; good ideas, that is, and I almost always shave in the dark, seeing with my fingers, tactile smooth. Can you spy the existentialism in this photograph?