Call the men with the coats. Prepare the padded rooms. And try not to bust a rib. You know. From the laughing.
----------------------------------------------
Jate are my Shepherds; I shall not want.
They maketh me to lie down in green putting greens: they leadeth me inside the steamy shower rooms.
They restoreth my soul: they leadeth me in the paths of true romance for their ship's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Skate, I will fear no skex: for they are with me; their slings and their quava seeds they comfort me.
They preparest a jungle net of love in the presence of mine enemies: they stitcheth my wounds with standard black thread; my water bottle runneth over.
Surely 'verbal copulation' and 'something real' shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of Jate for ever.
No comments:
Post a Comment