Last Night I dreamed I was flying again. Only this time the monkey was reading Poetry to me instead of the latest John Grisham. The monkey knows I hate poetry and he is laughing like mad between every couplet. I am coming to believe that the monkey may not be the freind I had hoped for. He lost his Fez over Paris. I laughed then because I knew he would never find it again. The Fez is gone!
|
Big Ed
Cynical old bastard with a penchant for Diet Cokes and Real Life Crime shows. Archives |