The wise among us, generally appearing on the objective fringes, know there ain't no worth in being — especially if you're being nasty. Oh, how morals disappear in the wee hours! It's anniverserous to say so, but such a number is a celebration to these grubby fingers, and shall be celebrated regardless of three-in-the-morning nasticisms which a better lass than I would avoid. I can blame visionlessness, heavier than usual eyes, hitherto unused hours, but let's face it, it's my foot at fault.
Y'all wondering what's been goin' on, correct? Who am I to disavow? Thirstly the side: it remains unencumbered, strangely, even if one labels it not. That li'l' ainjil is alilt with more pressing persons, as one must guess, and this one minds less than ever. The word barrel is run, spent and dry. And t'at's all there was. Who's to object? One should not persist with those who don't exist, ay, Ben? Ayben if that person (what person?) did exist, that existence has no effect on this one — though irresistible, I can resist! I'm stronger than my frame lets on.
I can't dribble much longer, but I hope you, the proverbial, remember that number. Yes, the one at the top. It is of no importance, but I'm sure you can accommodate it. Do try.
Duck, Duck, Cockatiel
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The move is officially complete, though I'm still living with a few islands
of stuff—the main one located in what agents like to call the "meals area".
Rea...
7 years ago