It's Christmas Eve
and here I sit
drinking a drink
and giving a ****.

The mistletoe's hung
way up in the air
on the semi off-chance
that you'll give a care.

With stockings and trimmings
and **-hoes and tree
and candies and dandies
and gifts not for me.

So welcome to Christmas
a wonderful time
with tannins and balms
and lonely red wine.

Perhaps the zombie,
in all his uncanniness,
is truly the definition
of asymmetrical anthropomorphism.

Perhaps the zombie,
with his slow shuffling gait,
is really the word
when it comes to unbridled determination.

And perhaps the zombie,
his hunger bottomless,
is indeed the very picture
of a man who can have it all.

Be Not Bitter in Thine Writings,
for They Be Most Wondrous Things;
Catacombious Monstrocities,
Though You May'st Conceive Them.
Words Stray'd and Pluck'd into Near-Woven Dressings,
Gone Fade with Thine Temperament—
These Things that You Shrug and Forget!—
Shall ****** Adventures unto the Intrepid,
Kind Caretakers as yet Unknown to These Days.

cannot hand in code
stupid website will not load
this is getting old

My cat howls at night. I sometimes wonder why.

I don't think it's 'cause he's lonely.
The door is open a crack and he knows how to get in.

Maybe he's going deaf. I heard that can happen.
"They howl real loud, like echolocation."

Or maybe my cat is a mutant.

All I can tell you, when he starts up like that,
is when I call his name he stops.
And comes into the room.
And jumps up on the bed.
And starts to purr.

So here's what I think—
that maybe what he's doing,
when he howls like that,
is scaring away the monsters so we can sleep.