In the ever dwindling universe of file cabinet task force and regurgitated social obligations, one thing stands out as being inexorably curious, there are no laundrymats on the planet Venus and modern postal codes make no allowance for extra terrestrial delivery. No wonder I am all alone without friends or giant reticulated promises of future employment. Sad really, there is no reason...
Angular dialectics of circular reasoning provide all the legal excuses I am looking for. There is only one conclusion, science has betrayed the promise of mankind and sugar coated donuts have completed the deception. There are no chocolate chips cookies in the organic pantry and rubber chickens cannot fly to Mars. Nevertheless, I find myself without purpose or reason, sitting in my shorts contemplating why I am all alone.
Elbow macaroni never had it so good when you consider the alternatives. But it still seems too "flexible" for me. Remarkably, the DADA art movement was the only significant exercise in gastronomic art parodies, and as such has no equal, even to this day.
Nevertheless, nobody really cares if you are dead or alive, especially if the TV is turned on.
copyright (c) 2019
William Schaeffer
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