For a balmy bonce
There is an upstairs to a complex and a downstairs to a prosecution. All Americans will soon engage in Hypothermia Practice, which is, broadly speaking, band practice without the instruments, uniforms, and sheepmusic. No, that's not a tasket hound, that's a gasket sound. Too many claps on the buttocks nowadays celebrate an insufficient outcome so much so one must come to terms with too many claps on the buttocks. Coffee will now be served during most North American ecological disasters. The terms of the financial bailout are as follows: (1) You may visit "Your Money" once a month on weekends, and (2) "Your Money" is hereafter defined as "Theoretically Liquid." As in, Pisswater, theoretically. A typical Salisbury Steak Frozen Dinner has been fed into a Supper Collider where it is being slammed into Mac 'n' Cheez, Hamhocks & Cornbread, Surf 'n' Turf, and Rigatoni, in the hopes of discovering Quantum Epigastric Development (Q.E.D.) It might be funny to feed Twelve Trillion Dollars of American Debt into the Hadron SuperCollider in the Swiss Palps and see if a black hole will eat it, or just pick at it, if it's not hungry. That's about all we can hope for, otherwise. Son, says the parent, if you work hard, you, too, can grow up. Period. 'Bout all we can hope for, to Grow Up. That night, the son sleeps beside the lyre, and the lion creature devours his dreams. Nobody ever said that.
