à tout à l’heure

Well burn down all the houses but save the ivory salt shakers! you can tip, tip, tippy toe all you want but your darling adopted cousin tied to the rusty radiator in the basement is not going to go away.paddling down the mashed potato and brown gravy mountain steps of teenage years into endless video games only gets you so far with being the cool kid.vodka in mason jars catch up quick.

you hit your head at the top of the crappy stairs again didn’t you? our septic line broke in the neighbors yard, so use the bathroom before we hit the road with that welding pedophile again to the motel.sell the cats, sell the walls, i would sail away but i don’t own a fucking boat now do i?

the sweet smell of fresh mowed grass is the only thing normal than the tall tomato garden helped planted by drug addicted family members in the AM. one car, two car, tan, and blue, they’re all gone now so start walking.

the old house seeped in dust from the road and every time you cum it smells like red strawberry’s because suave soap is what you used to beat off with for the first time.

riding my huffy bicycle i traded it for a porn mag…i was alright with walking for the time being.dad stepped out, but it was out on mom 8 times not to the grocery store. drive by parenting was made into a thing.if only we didn’t follow in our parents footsteps.

60 foot blue tarp slip’n’slide in the gnarly steep backyard was cool until we realized it was joy soap and water; then our eyes burned so damn bad.those green and silver robot police action figures were super cool, however i did open all the presents that Christmas before everyone woke up.needless to say my pile was bigger than everyone else’s once i labeled them.

maybe what i’m really trying to say is i should have stayed in band and played my dirty brass trombone, but Mr.Winter touched the kids and second seat is not worth it, so fuck that.just remember that hacky sac is the sport of king’s.toodles.