Hank enjoyed a continental lunch upon the rocks & pine needles whenst I says: “Pass the lima beans, ***-wipe” {similarly said to Ray gun}, but Hank was too drunk to budge & like a brownish cloud of farted gas bent ½-wise, he swayed & fell into the nerve-work of perpetuity, running north from a southerly direction. Corn flakes, pellets, kibbles & shredd'd wheat, on top of ceramic tile, cracked grout, tongue & groove flooring, wearing my black under-shirt w/pride, forming new, & I pray, & lasting friendships @ Pervert Park. I'm waiting for a truck so where is it? I'm alive & well w/nothing more important to do. Here comes one now: a stroke.