Tuesday, July 07, 2009

The Shape Of Eating

We tied a sheep bell to my sister every day for the first several years of her life to keep track of her. Well, guess what? It worked, bitches. We still know where she is to this day. One day, the landlord passed the green mounds in an attempt to secretly remove the sheep bell. I can tell you this with certainty: he was a dreadful acquaintance and a villain and no one was sad when he was killed after foolishly shaking the Hulk.

So now it is today and I am reading this very couplet while passing the ditch where the landlord's body was chucked. I have secretly used a tombstone as a pillow for weeks now, and everyone can smell a sweet bounty in vodka in my whisper. I have never experienced the luxury of drumsticks and wish I could stop ticking soldiers. All of this I blame on him, the landlord.

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