mrzablowdowski

Grind.
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I need to rework the new positronic operating core.
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Ordered one today.
Thinking ahead of the curve.
Wrap it in enough styrofoam. Catch the wave. Ride that junk all the way to China.
If I had to.


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Look closer. I'll wave.



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Turkey and Nuts

With so much to be thankful for, I had to kiss the kitchen floor.
Wicked gash. All nose and lip.

To say Boy George has unclaimed baggage, at this point, is old.
It's bad karma, on a long trip.
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Snakeskin God returned to find me pouring over the plan.
I told him it's not as bad as he thinks, as it has a soft ice cream machine built in.
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After an afternoon of satellite video, realized my hip hop kung fu is weak and thin.
I'm old.

Up on that new hot fresh flavor. New crew's whack.
A white hot posse, movin' up on that thing by increasin' the bling. That'd b'way fat.
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Veuve Clicquot knocked back. Listen to Miss Royal Bank of Scotland. Late no less.
Listen to me and it's later.
Taxi. Hit the club. Band, on stage, hit the second song in the set.
Fashionable, it could not be more.
Push our way up front. A few smiles and waves. A few familar faces on the way.
A sea of spandex and hair dye parts. A hour and half of wriggling packed together.
Though it sounds shallow. It's deep, filled with pearls.
And pearls grow more precious with time.