At the famous "Jump Across 100 Starter Salads"
Yes, you can take my hoarder if I can hoarder some fries with that entrée nous. I usually prefer In-N-Out-Of-Africa-Burger -- where you hoarder a Colonial or Post-Colonial w/ a Lite Boer -- but either way, I'll be finishing up with A Clockwork Orange Julius, the refreshing beverage that, just, meters your mindfulness. It's at The Mall, I'm always at the kiosk, I'm all about the flicks, Slick, and I'm going to see that new movie, BEER HORSE, about a roan thoroughbred who runs, like, really fast, to and from the brewery. It's a double feature, though, and the second film is about an Irish-American leg-breaker boxer bum who gets a shot at the champ; it's called SHAMROCKY. Or, I dunno, it's about a guy, Rocky, who's not who he says. That kind of reminds me of the famous explorer, Ponce de Chameleon -- always changing his clothes, changing his mind, changing his vote from "Pro Romney" to "Leaning Romney." Swing voters, man; too promiscuous. The premise being that they Promise The Couscous, i.e., the whole antsy lotta. Let us now recite: Whose weed this is I think I know // His stash is in the village though // He will not see me copping here // To watch his weed fill up with snow. That's either from Frost's poem, "Stopping to Buy Weed on a Snowy Evening" or Dickens' novel, Little Dorritos, about the imprisonment of those who owe a snackchips debt to society. We can drink tequila; we can say, Goodnight, tequila; and we can dream what the agave dreams, a spiny, parched topography that offers a sappy denouement. The sun-rise brings Industry, it always brings Industry, we must complete a round of Industry, whether it be solemn or not. Come along, say your morning pleasantries with me: Good morning, Industry; Nice power-tie, Industry; You've lost a little paunch, Industry; I don't mind compromising my core values, Industry, just as long as I can provide some trans fat for my people; That's all right, Industry, I guess I don't need a level wage, after all. The Story of the Mendicant and the Fancy Woman always goes like this: The Beggar was a persistent bugger, for each time he saw the Lady, he would beg her and bug her.