Whatever would possess one to blown the goodness from an egg then layer it with colourations? Creamy crunchy innards we won’t eat in 39 days, but devour scrambled with tomato sauce. The position of prominence pre-empts all on this day of worship. We heed, therefore we obey.
All the talk about the Lepus Laziness pooping out a few ova for the indigenous young’uns. The mounted chicken being ridden by a Horny Hare, small eating appendages gripping unused alar adaptations for leverage. No I found that on the humorous side. Not ROFL funny, but quipish none the less. Not as funny as “My ass is sore.” Response, “ What?”
But lest we belabor the blessing of these days. Spring is on the verge of dragging Southern Ontario out of the winter screaming and yelling that we don’t want to go. April Fool’s Day, it snowed. Again.
Hot days, summer in the city, back of my neck getting dirty and gritty, “Well your CD collection looks shiny and costly, how much did you pay for your bad Moto Guzzi. And how much did you spend for you black leather jacket, is it you or your parents in that income bracket?”
Snowed and Froze rain again today now some 10 days hence. The dated prose of the preceding post pages piercing my postdated foot stamping. Frozen to the dog bone in my hair. No different from a cave creature cro-magnum of champagne or not. Still cold. Still frozen. I think I will leave the locale for less than adequate environs in the west. Cow town for a coupla.
If youse’a know me and are hither, call me yon on the hand held communication device.
Perk a pot Persephone, pour slowly.
Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau.
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