Gargle, boggle, google eyee bogles
Stack! Stalks, balking at raucous menageries.

I badgered my basic bougie bailiff.

Staggered, I berated a beleugered nation of basal biscuit-heads.

Dead. My eye were dead.

I bled out my eyes.

You're welcome.


I tried.

I let you be red.
And now I'm boiled up.

I led you into
Mordor and boiled your cup.

you ****.
you never gave a ****.

You ate twice as much Mcdonalds as the
push ups you did.

You let your ID lead your life.

And you followed all the money.

So just because you're told you're funny...
you aint.

You're tire
and faint.
and sorry.

And I hate to say....
but a loser.

Who shows up dead.

Shriveled and spread out.

Layered.

With out.

Doubted and dead.

And made into a spread.

Smart.

The smartest folks should be real funny.

Or as least not run credible work in the ground.



You're funny amongst your friends, but the tags are unwholy unfounded.

Joking isn't heart.
Joking is in the blood.

If your joke don't ever land,
it means it never should.

Spit.
I spit out hell speak on my ponder railing.

I shrieked out gobs of porrige hate
that would abate all of my sailing.

I clicked my teethed and thrash about,
and abandoned all my food.

I stomped a fire, flesh and all,
just so that I would feel good.

Stumbling blubber-bees have fountains of fat.

I fumbled on ******-knees to make sense of all that.

Pretending I love the oceans of chubbies
is like making a seal out of our patience for blubberies.

Fat floats on our oceans,
we know all of that.

It floats on our oceans,
It floats out at sea.

But if I want a gold metal,
obese is what I can't be.

Flecks of salt

Clumps of flavor.

Sealing sound.

I'm Jesus' Savior.



Make it last.

Just so you know.

Life takes water.

And needs smarts to grow.

Is it comedic?

Old? Prosey? Wilted with rose old jokes?

Nosey? Poking stickers in stories that choke you?

Lazy? Grazing of tropes and cliches?

Or maybe it's dissuaging and scary?

And it'll knock you off of rhythm and scare you into and honest thought.

Maybe.

Maybe it's not.

Maybe all you're good for is a rotten degree doomed to rot beneath everyone who ever ate like an unseasoned potato who was ready to made with every veggie who's ever been to enlongate the of thinking youre good.
Just to think that you should.
Just to think that once you're alive you should be
alive forever, for all that can see.

Even though you're real bad,
and we'd rather have ****,
that knows what  it is,
that to have all the **** feel in charge, Like Le Mis.