Alright, so maybe Admiral and Immune don't create an alliteration, but you know what? Fuck alliterations too. What a clever "literary device" that is. Speaking of literary devices, why couldn't Emily Dickinson's family locked themselves in a shark cage and, from the edge of an oil rig, hurled it over the edge and into the ocean. That is, before they came all over her shitty manuscripts. Ever wonder where the four million - - - - - - - -- - - came from? No, not from a shockingly horrendous usage of the English language, but rather from dried semen. Makes you want to lick those poems right off the page, doesn't it Shakespeare?
Maybe this is simply residual anger that has been bubbling up and boiling over for the past few days. I wait three months to get to Amsterdam and just as I arrive I find myself remarkably ill, coughing up kidneys, flinging mucous from my nose and throat like ungodly trebuchets.
But my immune system would not hold me back. Instead of the throat-clawing fumes, I opted for a bounty of baked sweets. They were delicious and I ate many of them. I must have walked for over 25 hours in three days. I stopped only to fix my Ipod or to write down a thought. IN-FLU-ENZ-A. DONT BRING ME DOWN.
Without further abieullshit, I give you Amsterdam/Tribute to Ben.
No comments:
Post a Comment