Full of Wander. Wanderful.

Often Times, When I Stop Cutting My Own Hair, This Noodle Tells Me It Needs Rocking To Sleep

And I usually oblige. I don't know why. Not quite. Not yet.

Count the Waze

Terrorist Insurance, Anyone?

LIfe is LIke A TOilet

¡Aja! Así que se trataba de esto. Normal.

My Sprinkler is Racist

The Ill-Repair of Society (Beware the Bearantula!)

The Sickness Makes you Sicker When You're Sick

No Teeth, No Fussie Budgets (None, oK?)

Porcupine, Porkapie, Fossil Fuels

My Policeman is Eating Rice (RIght NOW)

These Days People Only Appreciate Smack Sandwiches

Keep This in mind

It's Obvious (I'll Help You Kill Your Friends)

Or: My Hand is a Total Sausage Fest

wowie zowie

Horse Supplicant (Haunted Meats)

Americans Are My Friends / alecbaldwin is not famous to me, i do not even know his name

my legs are made of speaking gas

sPAM fROM A cAN

for christmas the tree was made of pipe cleaners

and my lungs were made of black tar

jambalaya,,, , , , my left leg is an incinerator. Surprise?

the music star known only as "Beck" lives next door to me. he moved in the other week, and my life has gotten more interesting as a result, to say the least.

but to go on, i will mention that egg beaters continue to seep in through the air ducts, and the tear ducts, and the laser gun shaped swimming pool.

dueteronomy told me something interesting will happen to me when i go to the park and sing a duet with a bird as a passing lark. the pun was unintended, barely comprehended, and actually made the back of my neck grow warm to the touch. not in a radiation sort of way, or in a radiator sort of way, but just a cool, numbing, soothing glow. my neck grew 8 feet taller and my legs sank into the dirt, where they were gnawed upon by the mole people. they spoke some sort of language that made my blood boil and turned my heart into a turn stile. come one, come all, it would say. which was funny because my skull was dispensing free baseball caps to anyone who is willing. it was a popular day, and probably the cause for the pop star to move in next door. i've never been too apt at making omelettes, and i can say with 95.8% certainty that neither was he. as the cells trickle down my spinal column, along the pentameter, the 8-sided stop sign, the 20-sided die living in my scrotum, it made my feet dance with a joy that is international, but of little note even in the funny papers.

anyone have a good oatmeal recipe?

I Know Who I'd Bet to Win

create your own neck brace at our super salty 'n sour pizza station!

Andy Rooney Will Never Be My Neighbor...Fabulous

You're So Full of it (you know what it is, don't you?)

ma bananas ar lost mon

Cowtits

Most of the Time, My Eyes Just Turn into Wells

You Can't Fake a Chili This Good

FPS (First Person SALTMINING)

putnam account winner phonebook assembly

you don't think you know, do you?

\

TRELLIS DUNBAR WROTE ONE POEM ABOUT WONDERBREAD

popping up and looking at me
wonder bread, such a wonder
popping up and looking at me
i wish i was you

nectarines are the perfect fruiT

My whole life is a big party with celebrities

and i went to talk to my friend imaad but he was already dead. houdini used to run my paper route and he was a nice little kid but had the nastiest of

disappearing with my favorite
recipes. they would range from the simplest cookies to
a spot of tea with the man known only as el presidente.
now there was a man. from the hand of god to my ears,
fresh from my oven and twice as delicious as anything
you could hope to fabricate
six times every third tuesday
i would hear the children
calling my name up and
down the hills of
a winter blasted
town. i used to live
there but everyone
i knew was now dead
i wish i had a
point but it was
ultimately
pointless,

i'm a nervous liar who has never tasted worchesters house (walter krønkite)