Clocked out of the chaos and strapped on to the comet of love. Lipsticked areolas and hot monkey madness. Ferklempt and feverish at the same time. Chromatically invisible by design yet still capable of date night with a perfect pitch. The family tree still reigns majestic with its extended canopy and strong limbs. Boner appetit, mon cheri.

Funny how the addition of coolness makes sense of yesterday's words. The extremities are what we're missing and what we're shooting for. Our friends Leslie and Goettl made the month of June to be flagrantly similar to de-malignantizing my pooor little hoo-hoo. Hop into the 'cuzz because that co-ool air inside suggests it, so damn the torpedoes and yes, that's why they call me the heater . . .Sir Selfish . . .Mr. Lucky . .not dead yet Drew Peacock.

The finish here is some old jokes because when you're melancholy, you have a head like a melon and a face like a collie.
I called that Rape Advice Line earlier today. Unfortunately, it's only for victims. A man goes into a library and asks for a book on suicide. The librarian says, "Fuck off, you won't bring it back." What do you call an Indian dating service? Connect the Dots .In the drive-through at McDonald's, if the girl says, "Sorry about the wait", the correct response is "Nah, it looks good on you." A horse walks into a bar and the bartender asks "Why the long face?" so the horse replies "I'm an alcoholic". A woman goes to the doctors complaining of stomach cramps. She gets sent off for some test and comes back a week later. "Well, I hope you're ready for endless sleepless nights of crying and changing dirty nappies!" the doc says. "Wow, you mean I'm pregnant?" the woman replies thrilled. "No, you've got bowel cancer."

Basting the cranberry layer in my weathered windpipe ready,set go