Zombies eat brains to seek new knowledge. Panther cats still pounce playfully and wag their tails.
Laughing and crying and rocking and falling off the couch. Preach girl. Live your best life. I am fucking here for it.
Panther cats and panther pussies. Pussies and pansies are shouted from mouth’s of vermin as they are digested deliberately by snakes and mammo-reptiles.
Stomach acid turns their words to gurgles and spits and coughs, but they don’t learn, not even in these moments near death, so close to their descent into hell; H – E – double hockey stick – easy tough guy – those nasty words might taste bitter one day.
Their narcissism, their ego frames everything like a backlit silhouette of a pussycat doll on a truck’s mudflap. What a place to place a ‘beautiful, perfect’ woman – flapping like loose lips picking up mud and rain on the surface of highways.
Yes, it’s me thinking these thoughts – what does that have to say? This rollercoaster is as random and joyful as the intro to this writing. Why so srys… spelled SRYS – with a cat-face backdrop somewhere.
Nonsense is sense and makes all the sense.
Let’s go play. My dog always shows me this – he’s always looking at me with adorably questioning eyes – like, “Is it playtime yet?”
“How bout now?”
“Look, here’s my toy – see, play?”
I throw it to his bed a few times.
where rivers are born 