Twitter is a poor dying bird. Realistically it should live but for one fact, The Trump alter ego. He has pierced it's heart with an acronym. It will fall from it's purch like a drunken sailor. Who will mourn the death of the blue bird?
Sometimes something reflects in a water puddle and it looks like charred bacon. That's how they make bacon bits. You can also make them from the blackened toes of the twitter bird. No, it's not very appetizing.
The saint and the sinner were in deep conversation. A Pharisee passed by and curtseed. On to convenience store he went to buy smokeless tobacco. It was a nasty habit, not the purchase but what he did with it.
Rain is forecast for last week but that can't be right. That would make it pastcast. I don't have the energy to argue the point, It will only bloom then wilt on the stem and what good is that?
The mention of Jazz gets mixed reviews. What is that Muskrat tweeting today? Someone needs to change his diapers before he gets it everywhere. The fact is, we have written all the best stories and now we have to write sequels. I have a sequined jacket I put on for such occasions. Are there any occasions you care to bring up?
Seeing no hands, I will continue and we will not pass out gloves. Bright rays of butter are coming down from above. Where is the popcorn? Where is the lard? Where have all the flowers gone? When will we learn. Who can we teach. Someone get the Muskrat. We can teach him a thing or two.
The side walk is covered in words written in chalk. Oh look, they are vulgar sayings; quotes from the Muskrat. Why does he have to devalue everything. I must get off this cycle and find a new detergent. No one can can save us from ourselves.
Michael Allyn Wells - notes & musings