Stuttering, Muttering & Suffering

 Row, row, row your boat

It’s hard to believe that a man is telling the truth

when you know that you would lie

if you were in his place.

H.L. Mencken

Who would have thought that an erotic quickie satire with a pencil on a deserted island would give such gold circles of mental climatic trance; pounding a woman’s beef with a six sided shaft, that has in no uncertain terms, lead the fissures of her brain to synchronize with the ecstatic sounds of gushing drops from stalactite to stalagmite; to utter breathlessness.

Paul, the rump work with that piece of stretched leather has left that buddy of yours, talking to himself and left you walking in an inebriated un-sharpened state of stupor.

There, there Michael, it’s a good thing that the juices from that piece of meat acted as an eraser of memories of a rat going up a rhododendron; Jonathon, this provocateur treasure your wild, imaginative mind, sometimes you just got to smoke it on the grill, no frills, no steam!

Bye the way,  to get off this exotic island, take the yellow path and grind south by southwest, then wine north, then juke straight ahead to the Heart Break Hotel, and have two cheap northwest cocktails on me in DaBlue Room!

The roof of Vulcan, her, by many a gift

Seduced, Mars won, and with adult’rous lust

The bed dishonour’d of the King of fire.

Cowper—The Odyssey of Homer