scattergories.

we've been a bunch of busy bees and busy beavers.
and damn, that stings....
oh, c'mon.
i've been running around like a chicken without a head.
and that kinda sucks, for the record,
because normally that means impending death.
from the chopped off head, i'm sayin'.
and that sh!t is not dopeness.
unless, of course,
you happen to get chopped across the dome just right,
in which case you get to have a chickeny-coma,
and no f*n' face....
which,
while kinda cool-ish (sorta)
is also not dopeness.
i mean,
remember that story about the feeding tube chicken carcass?
c'mon.
sorry miracle mike,
but that just totally chugs my nugs off.
then again,
headless chicken so flippin' barely outranks chickenhead.
seriously.
knob-bobbin' slobs?
i mean, seriously?
butt-nasty, my ninjas.....
i don't hate on the jobbies,
unless ye're to be meanin' scottish turds.
that's too much doo-doo,
and not enough freaky sh!t, y'heard?
blowie-blastin' b!zzles, represent?!
the whole is greater than the sum, ya'll;
and as a whole,
chicken usually just implies cowardice, anyway.
and we can't have that, now, can we?
.....nope.
fortune favors the bold.
and i am boldly blazing through all kinds of grown-up business.
workin', cookin', real-estatin', bankin';
late to bed and early to rise,
lather, rinse, repeat.
i doo-doo that responsibly adult-type freaky sh!t;
never quiet, never soft...