Monday, July 27, 2009
A pox upon the houses that spite the raisinette!
I hath shriveled most profusely, my condiments of glory, used up and replaced with empty plastic good fer nothin's. My cohort jangle, jingled his proud jangle at last, and heaved a heavy stout pickle.
it was salty as my tears. Our guise was revealed. my bruce wayne of sorts. our grapish ruse is but a raisin.
We were as millers, beering out philanthropy amoungst the webs, Though i a steward, watching the condor of gondor still wait for a next time to rally my vice once again...