Bits about what I’m about to write -about 2.5 or I’m about to dive

Ideals first gets behind the wheel,

With ants on his legs he swats his pants,

Out of gas, or flat tires, or the crash of a boulder from Mars,

anyway, what does all that matter at this late date?

He lets out one more smelly squeal, wheels migh be coming off,


How does that feel?




Who knows what will bring about their own death?

not nearly enough rest,

climbing on top of the nest,

sex in a pine or oak tree,

or your favorite fishing chair breaks, an the complaint is your neck?  What the heck!

Oh, lets all die in rocket ships,  better still in the comic strips,

With all we know, the power and length of Googling,

We should be able to sit on the beach forever an look lewdly at girls,



Boys are flat out paper bags,


pop but seldom twang,

To get music  from them even as a kazoo,

best to introduce them to the animals in the zoo!


To eat you, even if you taste horrid,

I’d first have to cut you up,

choose knife or pen,

an before I cook,



Jobs are horrible ways to spend a life,

Forget mom an dad –use your own head,

Find your own fun,  or be quite derned, burned, left unsaid, might as well have stayed in bed!


Being born is jeepers creepers, being born is the beginning of being worn, being born is light to brighten night, being born is to get your own horn, being born is about the greatest treat, being born means all of us can meet, being born ensures the vote, being born means all of us will live over and over again.

Being aborted is murder an down below under, maybe the reason for thunder, the most horrible scheme, kills a baby who would be you, us, me, we!


People are hunters and gatherers,

Those who would rather do it and ones who would rather not,

Also there is the little snot.

Some are who mouths open, and seldom closed,


Wonderful folks who sing, dance, an draw,

We who gather fun, and those others who will have none !



Of course we could be blown up to the sky,

On airlines we could die,

The world is a construction project,  from which people could fall under rubble,

Natural causes and normal accidents seldom make much in the papers,

Buses also may be dangers, cars kill every minute,

but in airlines people line up for hours,

for quicker trips, when slow is more fun,

Terrorists can get you at ten thousand feet or in a Grayhound back seat.

It’s your treat.


You wanted to wait, but my gage was on rush.  We were that close, but like is always bits more, never are we smart enough for our very most.  We strive, sweat, bet, let, stop, dot –then we turn to toast.










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