with Barb Black née Beebee
to help set the ghost
of little ***** Brandt free
(a non German, but germane fellow  
courtesy Craigslist classified
personals of mine invitee
she replied, I took liberty
to Google her first and last name,
and risked calling mentioning,
she qualified as lucky nominee
meaning yours truly hanker
for a barenaked lady
to indulge libidinal ******* spree,
(ahem - no pun intended)
in layman's terms to make whoopie!

Years ago, an outing
with paramour went awry
lower gastrointestinal system
of the down did not comply
dear reader let these lines hopefully edify
and entertain courtesy
garden variety generic guy,
who strives to tickle your fancy
to jollify cause yours truly
tries humor that's no lie
and if receptive

to give feedback please notify
author of these words
who in actuality
counts himself a private-eye.
Picture the opening scene
Cumberland Farms -
in Coatesville, Pennsylvania,
the paramour and I purchase lunch;
she bought the two
Italian hoagies and drinks,
one for me and the other for her.

Upon arriving back
at boudoir place of courtesan,
we inherently, immediately,
got down to monkey business;
each of us carefully unwrapped
our respective submarine;
Between mouthfuls of deli meat and cheese,
(the latter a substance that triggered
nascent irritable bowel syndrome),
I suppressed grimaces of abdominal agony,
which ****** contortions overrode attempts
at non verbal foreplay.

The rapid fire acting power of dairy product
moved bowels of mine faster than
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

Despite frequent record breaking
sprints to the bathroom
nothing would forsake golden opportunity
to indulge philandering bacchanalian adultery.

****** ******* the farthest
thought in my mind,
yet I ignored queasiness,
and feigned interest,
no matter intuition
vis a vis gurgly tummy
signaled warning against
engaging in frolicsome escapade,
nevertheless Casanova wannabe
succumbed to arrange himself
in concert with his mistress
two times the ninth highest prime number.

Woody pecker of mine
(a fine specimen male ***** she
highly touted, praised, and notated
courtesy the woman, whose presence
I honorably graced)
perhaps interpreted and intimated
as a fervent desire to rut
(despite lady of the night
having undergone tubal ligation
years before our initial close encounters

of the illicit kind took place
at Evansburg Park,
where after at least
a decade of being celibate,
I experienced premature *******
and soiled my underwear,
which super seminal glue
seals a stronger bond than
another tried and true
rigged with mortise and tenon.

A mortise and tenon joint connects
two pieces of wood or other material.

Woodworkers around the world used it
for thousands of years
to join pieces of wood,
mainly when the adjoining pieces
connect at right angles.
Mortise and tenon joints count as strong
and stable joints used in many projects.

Now lemme loop back
to aforementioned plight
to sorry state of affairs
that found me plagued
with an overactive
internal **** sphincter (IAS)
and external **** sphincter (EAS);

The internal **** sphincter (IAS)
forms the innermost muscular layer
of the **** canal and is a continuation
of the circular muscle of the ******
and ends with a pronounced rounded edge
1 to 1.5 cm caudal to the dentate line
and slightly cranial to the terminus
of the external **** sphincter (EAS).

The missus asked me
(hitherto known as her bozo)
just mere moments ago
to craft humorous poem to glow
nsync with the shiny nose of Rudolph
keeping syncopated metrical flow
thus methought to crow
about being equally as foolish
streaking naked outside at five below
so without further here I go
rattling off gibberish as common Joe
King cole, a merry old soul...
dirt poor, hence without any dough
to embellish endeavor as literary pro,
who also sought to catch eye of Mister Perdue
(yea him of agribusiness fame)
to sacrifice self for New Year's barbecue.

Yours truly repurposed courtesy rigged
easy to assemble cannibalistic spit
with large fig leaf covering puny naughty bit
meekly (née willingly) surrendered
matter of fact, I paid with bitcoin chit
recognized latest currency
ever since legal tender easily susceptible
and oftimes confused as counterfeit
money forged, smelted, and hammered
linkedin with pendulum that swung within pit.

Thus analogous to
Five Chinese brothers immune
yours truly constituted
more'n one secret boon
such fiery flames (hot enough
to melt like molten rock)
could harm not a hair
of one **** sapien baboon
matter fact simian in question
could become swell

think hot air balloon
allowing, enabling and
providing me quick escape
national anthem playing
as most popular tune,
a capella, I simultaneous croon
as hot embers snap, pop, and crackle
token human crisply cooking
taking place at high noon
despite the most ferocious typhoon,
no worry, I defy being drowned

survival skills inherited
sophisticated quirky protozoa
symbiotic eukaryotes
since time immemorial
livingsocial within tight quarters
with not mushroom
to maneuver - oh... hold on,
cuz I will be done lame
reasonable rhyme really soon
ah... just about done
getting cooked the color maroon.

As will be accurately surmised, yours truly trends toward being atypical, basically comical dude, ethically fantastical, generally hemispherically intact, jokingly kooky, linguistically minded, nonestablishmentarian, opportunistic, poetic, quintessentially righteous, sartorially tacky, unpretentiously voluble, wittily xyst, yearningly zestful.

A written account (that incorporates some self directed hyperbole) of this veritable stranger now appears before your screen. Soon after reading this message, the neighbors might discern a blood curdling series of (hyena-like) shrieking screams. No worry. That would just be the mating call of the hairy Harris mama bear.

Ready! Set! Click!

A scary reflection greets me whenever I summon up enough steely courage to take a sneak peek into the mirror. Before the spider lines start to appear across the shiny surface and subsequent cracks and fissures dissolve the glassy surface these deux hazel colored, myopic bespectacled eyes quickly absorb a most frightful countenance and visage.

That near legendary and trademark feature of longish, wavy and brown straggly hair seems to fill the entire view. Hidden among that avant garde rhapsodic bohemian, Cro-Magnon, Neolithic, non-every-man style of un-styled locks (interspersed with silver follicles indicative of acquired worry per fighting off that garden variety prehistoric creature) can be discerned a brutish, nasty and short proto-human with a high forehead, which allows, enables and provides more skin surface to bang against the wall when frustrated.

My somewhat outsize ears and longish neck (I swear exist, which contrary to popular myth never seen by living persons) support this egg shaped (fried or scrambled some might argue) head.

A mostly flat and hairless chest attests to a regular regimen of light (self-concocted) chest-pounding routine. Exercise (as well as meditation) a vital part of my daily program to deal with the ordinary stresses of primitive existence. Coffee happens to be the sole vice, which exotic brews provide that helpful jump-start. I sometimes even chump on the cup to keep these teeth sharp.

Now to that locale known as the ****. Although the unseen forces of biology and genetics dealt me an itsy bitsy, tiny ***** (which serves as the but for fellow Apes to taunt and tease) such anatomical feature offers little value as the worthiness of ****** prowess. This palm pilot sized gluteus Maximus offers one benefit.

Ease to squeeze into tight spaces without getting stuck. This tiny ***** accompanied by a vestigial and teeny-weensy ****** schnitzel of a phallus, which undersized **** a doodle do bulges into an erectile state within shooting distance of that coveted warm, wet and wooly private world property of each and every woman.

A pair of skinny (flamingo like) legs (covered in a adequate hair) now completes this general character sketch.

Does this suffice? After attempting to envision some vague essential apparition or near facsimile of what barely passes muster as a Caucasian male, I wonder if you happen to be less or more favorably disposed toward some healthy interaction of body, mind and spirit.

If not yourself, I wonder if you know if any local cave woman close to unit B44? Maybe great ape as yourself to make grunting noises with me?

Now if you would politely excuse me, I MUST scavenge for some berries, exotic tree bark or that stray small and wild game.

Contact me via banging rocks together asap.

Yours truly just a fluke of the universe
worming his way hook, line and sinker
thru the meandering time stream,
which current speeds up the older I get
rocketing toward my sixty fifth birthday
January thirteenth two thousand twenty four.

A garden variety (generic) agrarian wannabe
antiauthoritarian, bookish antiquarian bloke,
antitotalitarian, well mannered barbarian
disestablishmentarian, egalitarian, futilitarian,
grammarian, quasi hereditarian, latitudinarian,
libertarian, majoritarian, nonsectarian,
nonvegetarian, proletarian, sexagenarian,
Unitarian who receives social security
disability courtesy once paralyzing
lacerating, and debilitating anxiety.

Yours truly amazingly
chronologically, enigmatically,
gracefully, interminably weathered
despite malevolent mental maelstrom,
linkedin with extinction of **** sapiens
in tandem with many flora and fauna
populating planet Earth
courtesy Manhattan Project
when Ernest Rutherford split the atom.

Fiendish and gruesome
phantasmagoric denizens
dwell deep inside subterranean vault
perform an evil dance
haunt psychic landscape
with imaginary (yet realistic)
gargoyle visitations cast macabre trance
nocturnal unconscious invaders
cavort and gallivant
disturb quiescent sleep with
devilish and sinister prance.

Apparitions crept stealthily
into peaceful slumber receptacle
repository whence illusory
landscape of dreams
take place to rejuvenate exhausted
body, mind and spirit triage
rent asunder blissful sleep
with a startled fright
cold sweat drenched
nighttime garments and bedding
teeth chattered uncontrollably
heart pounded loudly inside chest
nightmarish phantoms wrought
an awful ghoulish sight.

Mushroom cloud anniversary
triggered frenzied gargantuan hallucination
since 6 August 1945, at 08:15
inauguration into atomic age took place
one country after another sought
to acquire demonic and destruction devices
maintain self-preservation in
surreal atomic weapons race
impossible to escape the dark threat
that looms and threatens life on Earth
one launched missile spells extermination
across entire global space.

No escape from humankind military machines
munitions march mean madness
and guaranteed demise to all life
**** Sapiens violent history of
bias, intolerance and/or prejudice
characterizes vicious warfare
and chronic species strife
unaffordable legacy for future,
(and perhaps alien) archeologists
who will sift thru civilization debris
with delicate knife.

Artifacts buried in heap of pulverized
and radioactive ash
civilization monuments
and hedonistic symbols
gone in a blinding brilliant flash
irksome flotsam and jetsam
spewed into outer space
alien nations light years distant
collect miniscule bits and pieces
offer object lesson as extinction
for beings that become excessively brash.

offers his interpretation of critical race theory

I, (an articulate, charming, domesticated,
erudite, friendly, genteel, humorous, intelligent,
kind, learned, male, albeit modest – married)
with freshly clipped formerly gnarly toenails
discounts the popularized myth
encompassing world wide
webbed historical events
despite being taught Northern Europeans
owned preeminent supreme paradigm,
whereby hegemony instituted,
enforced, and blanketed
upon conquered peoples.

Blissful innocence shattered,
when nasty brutes across Atlantic Ocean
staked claim where
Nations of descendents
at least 15,000 years ago
possibly much earlier,
migrated from Asia via Beringia
and called their home
what eventually became United States.

Violence exerted to wrest control
and subdue native populations,
whose culture clubbed,
and ofttimes obliterated
from face of the Earth.

Lower Providence
public school curriculum
circa mid ninety sixties
to late ninety seventies
omitted teaching students
(case in point - yours truly)
about contemporaneous earthlings
grappling with business of livingsocial

buzzfeeding (courtesy fancy feast)
aside from hashtagged explorers
jackknifing indigenous tribes
kickstarting exploitation against
rightful owners of the land,
which usurpers against natives
dark shadows of former banished latter
to outer limits of twilight zone.

Self anointed discoverers
applied misnomer "Indians"
to bipedal hominids,
who originally occupied Turtle Island
unbeknownst to latter
frankenstein like mailer daemons
dwelt in subterranean psychic realm
wrought havoc upon rational landscape helm
at horrific tragic strewn source of catalepsy,
which near mortal blow took place
probably occurred at
mine boyhood happy hunting grounds
demesne named Glen Elm.

Think metaphorical collision course
induced straggling survivors who cried
foul, when foreigners credo, fiat,
and indeed latitudinal
manifest destiny linkedin
with eminent domain cruel fiends decried
wrought major genocide
lamentable attempt at war whoop
impossible mission to defeat
fortifications allowed, enabled
and provided secure place to whip hide,
(albeit unfairly) to seek
then ***** out aboriginal pure tin pride.

Analogous to violent upheaval
along major fault line shift
caused major emotional tectonic plate
to rent asunder and irrevocable seismic rift
and deliver sanity into Hades gate
seismic alteration (albeit metaphoric)
sheared apart major tectonic plate
Richter scale needle
absorbed mental quake shock

registered brain wave bereft
regarding annihilated state
igneous allusions equate
gray matter to liquid rock
existential catastrophe casus belli
of such egregious fate
now finds me here
experiencing writer’s block,
where creative juices cease to create.

The fount and receptacle of inventive wit
gives vent and voice to ply me craft
as I tried to capture elusive
ideas awkwardly fit
in some metrical schema
from out my literary sword and haft
with at least one eye on prize money
maybe even win title of laureate

showing true grin and grit
epitomizing my rather
iconic style dapper and daft
trademark genre ranked
by other in league with a nitwit
prompting me to ponder another draft
one more apropos
and more comfortable misfit.

I attribute being a grown mad scientist
linkedin with tacit approval of parents
(both long gone to the smoky afterlife),
and donned wizard trumpeting magic spells
while dark and stormy night
(one week before Halloween),
which usher nostalgic memories
encapsulated within the following poem
initially drafted quite some years ago.

Both parents possessed pedigreed panache
(but especially my father – renown Chemist
B.B. Harris and to slightly lesser extent
late culinary cuisine queen Harmit Harms
Kuritsky - gal whose troth thy then still
livingsocial nonagenarian widower papa
pledged, while holding some bubbling
sinister looking flask in hand while both
donned trumpeting finessed affianced
doctored formula to marry, when both
partook of blind date.

This combustible transunion link analogous
to their representative first electric kool aid
basic laboratory litmus test date), which
took place without a hitch, and telepathically
encouraged begetting retinue of revered
sons and daughters, whose ken hopefully
burned with passion KRISPR incubated,
inculcated, and incurred genetic outlook
ideally transmitted to prolific brood
of begotten babes.

This kid felt embers crackling, popping,
and snapping with yen that burned from
within and without buns sin burner of this
cingular earthlinked son.

No matter a bit tentative to experiment
*****-nilly (wonka like) with rather
explosive materiel, I received truckloads
of ammunition (in tandem with benevolent
benediction) to foster dare devil and
derelict pyromaniac precocity.

Those initial awkward formative forays
assaying, assessing and carefully calibrating
this, that or other liquid or powdery substance
found me meticulously measuring and
weighing the substances using kitchen
midden malodorous kid gloves.

Frequent disappointment arose from
yours truly as well as momma and papa
when net result (of these early attempts
to blend powders and/or liquids) merely
fizzled and self extinguished
into near inaudible ****.

Continual daily practice (would lead way
for me to enter Carnegie – Mellon ---- Hall)
after countless travails, trials and trolls i.e.
uber vaporous wisps to lyft yawping banshee
like holograms, or equivalent of 10,000 maniacs)
eventually bore successful fruit in the form
of near perfect results.

Success in hotly contested field Pyrotechnics
requires striking resemblance
to any other vocation.

One must be able, eager, ready and willing
to maintain burning passion no matter any
unforeseen setbacks or heat from an
objectionable source.

Yes, there would be an errant conflagration
(sometimes set purposely by adjunct professor)
as object lesson to master usage of fire
extinguisher/fighter, a vital piece of equipment
and evenhandedness for getting hold
instantaneously jetting kickstarter live matches)
to contain any runaway flame.

I do sheepishly admit to (ahem) you
on occasion the outcome went awry.

Nonetheless, they prided their potential
fire branded wizard in the making with
kudos and praise with DYNAMITE.

Practice from indiscriminately creating
unpredictable concoctions, these lethally
marshaled nonchalant opportunities
provided quintessentially random results
though usually very wimpy in tandem
with totally tubular nerdy, geeky, freaky,
and dorky beastie boy.

As proof positive and proud testimony, they
proudly pointed (upward) to the kitchen ceiling.

There such handiworks practically covered
entire ceiling with variegated splotches.
These scorch marks keepsake frescoes to show
kith and kin unspecified years into smoky future.

Quite accurate to assume
father and mother coached,
goaded, and nurtured
exploratory ambitions and
tried not to stifle
(at least consciously or deliberately)
my early stage ambition
toward scientific artiste bent.

As homeschooled and to some extent self taught
chemically romanced muralist, I grew up (not
surprisingly) in Unitarian household paid
close attention also adhered to the pioneer spirit.

The near limitless boundaries of life, liberty and
pursuit of understanding
an underlying credo, which
allowed, enabled and provided near endless
experimentation even at the risk of life and limb.

Aside talking head
nearly burning down the house
amidst talking heads practically in dire straits,
an instinctive reflex found me immolating myself,
occasionally singeing the canine fur of Lady,
Schultz, or Socrates, et cetera no frightful
catastrophic outcomes occurred thru milieu
of mixing deceptively harmless looking
inert raw materials.

Trial and error (quite successful with latter)
via blithely cooking dicey elements forming
goulash hiccupping laboratory mishmash
practically eliminated any pained regret to take
daring risks (such as getting married – ha)
in later life.

Despite favorable and lovable upbringing,
my mother (ever the protector and/or proctor
of our family and an excellent chef boyardee
to boot) still managed to insinuate (gently
as possible) the necessity to be careful when
igniting flammable materials lest
some uncontrollable conflagration ensue.

She (mom) did frequently confess to feeling
ever so slightly jittery and uneasy with my
slapdash amateurish homebrewed pyrotechnics
and much preferred to steer my attention toward
safer hobby such as the edible objets d’arts i.e.,
the much more drab field per how to present
and aesthetically appealing and nutritious meal.

Fondness to prepare food and pretend to be
faux renowned cook (this confession admitted
rather baldly and obviously deduced) actually
competed for my most favorite avocation activity
and spare leisure time.

In other words, this chap did relish designing
his own recipes mainly from leftovers in tandem
with unpronounceable multisyllabic organic
compounds filled numerous sized dishes
and aged apothecary bottles respectively.

Without question though, the passion plus
less riskier factor to combine and potchka
dry and wet ingredients together did rank
as considerably safer medium that still
allowed, enabled and provided me an equal
opportunity to test reactions, than those
earlier iterated potentially explosive hazards.

Nonetheless, my cavalier crusading overactive
appetite, hunger and thirst to discover causative
outcomes (even with purportedly innocuous
looking household cleaning supplies or easily
acquired inert materiel) nearly witnessed an
apocalypse at three two four Level Road
on one particular nasty occasion.

I anticipated our domicile would become
rent asunder, and reduced into a black
and decker ashen funeral pyre, yet for
grace of some divine force no family
members nor pets succumbed
nor got asphyxiated from choking acrid air.

Even as old (dish) married
(spooning) curmudgeon,
who receives social security disability
linkedin with social anxiety)
chose the fork less traveled
aye pucker with sunken cheeks,
(especially without dentures)
and raspily suction toothless mouth
drawing reminiscent guffaws affecting
attempt impersonating plumber

(think unclogging toilet)
please support your local ******
back in the day one
long haired pencil neck geeks palled
around with another
hirsute nerd - Roger Kummerer,
(who both of us graduated Methacton
High School class of 1977),
and yours truly readily
admitting, alluding, and attesting

without shadow of doubt
representing the dumber
than rocks of said beastie boys
bandits, donning particolored pachyderm
gabardine garb getup trumpeting,
especially as Mummer
on each New Year's Day
with bare *** tuchus
excellently imitating courtesy said orifice
(as chief motormouth) sound
of combo motorboat hummer.

Ah... the joys of amazingly aging gracefully
happily recalling never being
beat into ****** pulp dully
imagining dimming sense and sensibility
before (appearing gratefully dead)
lifeless body dumped into gully
nonetheless all the while fully
maintaining conscious, and forcefully
summoning forth latent powers gleefully
choking living daylights masterfully

delivering just desserts upon Tom Viglione,
whose plaintive laments truthfully
resonate as blessed music
to ears unaccustomed hearing pitifully
sounding long overdue comeuppance
forever disbelieving wrongfully
perpetrated injustice
witnessed impossible mission
fueling an ordinarily meek lad
only in his dreams, he envisions zestfully.

Pugnacious thuggish hooligans... although
decades long since elapsed, whereby hoodlums
jockeyed to rain one after another verbal blow
threatening introverted diminutive boy
who, no surprise did eventually,
albeit (stuntedly) grow
(as an aside resembled anorexic
Santa Claus **... **... **...)
still wracked, impacted, affected...,
this punster, he haint Joe
King, but upholds valuable humor less or mo'
feebly, lamely, and quirkily aspires toward po'
whit tree linkedin with infusing,
(no matter ex post facto)
freeing mine unsung hero.

so u real???
Warning! The following choppy, batty,
*****: elegy = flaky, goofy, history: iffy,
jumpy, kooky: loopy, matty, *****, nippy,
sketchy material prone to find the reader
dazed and bewildered, yet comfortably numb.

Modern Roam Min Times – mesh
THERE IS NO RELATION WITH THE
EPIC OF GILGAMESH (abridged from
brook land) AND THIS VIGNETTE – in ma Englesh.

thank a u faux sis
this married sexagenarian
encloses his poetic opus
the smooching this celibate
(sleep as a cellar dweller) chap doth miss
shaw wish i could give hew a kiss
though ye might rip ply with a hiss
that would usher inxs of x2c Noah obliging bliss.

while perched within mine
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania aerie
this totally mishmash, succotash, n trash -
hoopfully finds ya cheery
so...hallo n greetings ma dearie
just faw bean help ming this fool

i.e. myself who haint no fairy,
boot possibly the missing humankind link
cuz o be yin - head to feet - completely as hairy
Siamese twins with names Tom n Jerry
'though ye might disbelieve moi n feel leery
n doubt every word written -

but try 2 feign b ying merry
while i pose the following philosophical query...
to make sense = deciphering billy shakes perry
now take a mooch needed break cuz,
the following gibberish might beak comb quite weary.

Is society a better world to live in with less or more?
boy! those Everclear caveman days were brutish,
nasty, short and rough. that aside, though
no Culture Club, Fancyfeast, nor Iggy Pop
the Flintstone era a bit raucous, riotous, and
yabba dabba with Doobie Brothers rubble ye us.

Def Jam, ear splitting cacophony felt like
listening to partying beastie boys on a vampire
weekend competing with Def Leopards roar
n rush shin version of hells bells, Inxs of pulp
fiction sung backwards by cold play, or a brutally
nasty, yet thankfully short version per youtube
video drowning out beach boys straight out ta

Compton winking in the hood while loud Quiet
Riot !@#$ growls shook B52 sized bats overhead,
when this grizzled papa bear disturbed (like
twittering angry birds), and forced to wake
prematurely from hibernation set his seething
animal anger to boil, and smoke to issue from
jack rabbit *** nine looking Don Quixote ears.

argh! go. whar art thou Cello Yo Yo Ma?

the gumption from this then profoundly gap toothed,
high browed, red necked ursine, viperous spouse getting
one swiftly tailored kick in the bony **** sent me flying
like a twisted sister careening forward out of summer time
sadness air back to the future. right then n tha hair, earth,
wind and fire convinced this **** sapiens he became
another Grateful Dead Foo Fighter.

upon immediate and most unwelcome exposure therapy
to the Avast arctic blast (complete with Arctic Monkey),
this Mama’s and Papa’s Boy (by George) was in no mood
to neither tangle nor play footsie with Mother Nature.

Analogous to The Idler Wheel Is Wiser than the Driver
of the ***** and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More
than Ropes Will Ever Do, I wanted to whip the hide,
when needles of miniature aeroplane shaped snow white
slippery buckshot elements of style kissed, pierced and
smashed against his face from those shoddily made flimsy
animal clothes that barely kept him warm.
Lucky for vat of midnight oil, which shrouded me
in n wispy pearl jam pelt.

Tears for Fears spilled in One Direction (like 10,000
Maniacs bursting from a Soundgarden or highly
revved Motorhead emulating a Quiet Riot).

Wah. Stop crying bellowed the Queen Scorpion
(Poison ing the Air Supply).

Without - dark shadows of a doubt slunk N’Sync
with the twilight zone along the edge of night, these
beatle browed Monkeys (strewn by denim dog gone
hooligans), who cawed like sum Cajun gumbo baboons
as proto Partridge Family for a banana split Sunday
closing out Vampire Weeknd packing a full house
at the Tokyo Hotel.

Anyway, I practically froze off mine scrawny ****.

Dang!

Ooh, how purty, a cute deer.

Out came the bow and arrow.

the feathered lancet described a Nike arc with
Nike like swoosh bulls’ eye.

Upon uttering "hey Lucy i am home", the little
beasts tore their sharp nine-inch long nails into soft raw doe.

Bathe? The (Puddle Of Mud battled crippled creek),
when a dry riverbed doubles up as a mud bed or
washbasin after the springtime flood.

How in the name of judas priest could our ancestors
enjoy feeling like a beast of burden?

who says you cannot always get what you want? Alice
coop er in chains? Beastie boy George Cinderella? Eddie
money? Freddie Mercury? Iron Maiden? Lana del rey?
Jane’s addiction? Pink Floyd? Yes! the entire Motley Crue?