The Pronouncement

I have been emblazoned by the 1970s heraldry of the speaker fuzz of supernova funk. I have held it so tightly to my heart as to be subersive and stutter. I have been dry erased out of relevance by spreadsheet toilet work with violence (should I hide it in my pants?). I pussyfoot the 609 W. Adams street long running telemundo anxiety. I fart a grandiose spellbinding (KEEP OUT of my cube). Pajama hopscotch my way in a business luncheon. We hope you like BBQ and grape soda. I burned you a cd of you and me running through twilight, because I airfared my eco-anarchistic wannabeism with peach pie Obamaism cordial, but it didn't fit in your 'pod. I Rowan Atkinsoned my way through the big tunnels of 24 years. I show off the size of my adult basic education units. My knack of contemporary old world idea from wood and wobble fable. I overthunk lizards. I William Carlos Williamed every conversation until I had no friends. I verb dead jerk's name. I .22 caliber trouble fraggle, cross pollination danced them all back, on their knees, "We kneed you."