I’m so glad that I’m not trying to “grow as a writer.”  I like being a one trick pony.   I didn’t know that ponies performed tricks, or that they had more than one to do.  I’m glad that I’m more than that and thus less.  Oooh…mental backflips, I see ya goin’ ass over teakettle.  Oooh.  Nothing.  Nothing at all.

Charles Bukowski is worse than Charles Bukowski.

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Am I hyper or something?  This sucks.  Sucks, sucks, sucks.  It hurts to re-read.  I’m going to write book reviews of teen fiction on Amazon, that are way too long and “deep.”

“And I’ll have miles to go before I sleep.”

Robert Frost farted in a breadbasket once, and I heard Seamus Heaney bought it from the afterlife.

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(Credit: Google search for words)

Yeah, I’m having too much fun with this.  I need to go ahead and quit.

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