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There are things that we need and things that are Ned. Nedfulthings: a collection of labyrinthine conversations and a fistful of dreams... |
Re: Do you think the rain will hurt the rhubarb?
by
Way
The stranger staggered as he grasped at the unpainted door frame, clawing to gain a secure grip with long, bony fingers...fingers that would cause an honest suburbanite to cringe in disgust while imploring, "Where did that poor fellow get such bony, obnoxious fingers, and how can I avert the eyes of my innocent children so that they might grow to become staunch Uniters, not Dividers? Ethel? Ethel? Where is our TV guide?"
And then a rasping, gurgling sound bubbled forth from deep down inside a parched throat as the stranger's eyes pleaded silently for a cold drink (preferably a Yuppie beer over one of those prepackaged water bottles, tyvm):
"Ned? I made it! I finally made it!"
Then he collapsed into a small heap, where he turned an attentive eye to The People's Court.
No, this was no commom stranger. This was a modern-day Botman.
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The Poet is like an onion - because when you cut him, he makes you cry.
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