"Some swarthy sonufabitch scattered slurpee sauce up my sneakers!"

We grow fat at a magnificent pace, in this, the donut race, a cycle ride from Leaside up to 905 and back again - it makes  a man. Now I swallow mounds of fried magoo, as only I can do. An about-face, all about timing, pace, the business case. An obsession with a grand 'a-ha' makes magicians vanish senza trace. Prophalaxis upon members of the Axis would attract some serious debate. [Even Hitler bowed and scraped at Eva Braun's father's place??] Do I snicker when I say 'Djibouti', or a keep a straight face for 'Clafouti' - your snobbery eventually lands in a glove that only fits your hand.

1 comment:

Wanderlust Scarlett said...

Well done... and amen to you on that very last line; for it's truth at the end of your wild rhyme.

Scarlett & Viaggiatore