oh... so now i know where my
"st. vitus'" take on sporadic,
uncontrollable dance routines
took place:
drunk, i attempted to

whistle...

   each and every time i attempted

to whistle...

   i burst into a fire and fury
of laughter, as if i waa hearing
political satire!
every single time i'd try to whistle:
giggles...
     a bit like watching
the laws surrounding marihuana,
on a friday evening
lodged in amsterdam...
      asking myself:
am i here for the ****...
         or the puerto rican plumps
of pork chops still breathing
with a 17th century fetish
                  for excesses?

perhaps neither...
   perhaps both...
   i'll have heiny ec-ken
                 (bite of a buttocks)
nekken -
                (bite of the neck):
huh!?

  i really expected
   matthew mcconaughey
to be much taller, in real life,
let alone the oscars' ceremony.

i.e. is that a ******,
       or a ******* leprechaun?

no good trying to whistle,
when all you can do
in "return" is to giggle at the attempt, to.