Pretty Blissfully

✖ {All citizens of Nebraska might want to cover their eyes and ears. Thanks. - Rodney Ronsonol, Editor} Holy Fuck! He speaks! {Yo, man. I warned you. - RR}

✖ Man. It's like the cobrasnake grew titties.

✖ I'm not sure I've ever smelled a roadtrip like how I smell a roadtrip right now.

✖ My glorious youth? Keep it. My innocence? Whatevs. I just want my motherfucking Jordan VII's back, goddammit.

✖ Porous Walker. Ruling.

✖ In the spirit of one Anvil Rabbit of Hiebradond, I'd like to present a little poem I've written called After Some Difficulty With the Windsor Knot:

Caught doubled over
in a swift and furious moment.
A "Stag at Sharkey's" kind of moment.
There's pink and green on an x-y axis.

The famous actor,
now dead young,
had his head down and to the left.
His chin brushed his lapel.
He resisted the touch of a disembodied hand.

Three mudcaked topless women
stand in the garden around the side
of a white house.
All a bit fat.

Out of total photocopied black,
white fire wraps around a tall "X,"
illuminating Southern California.

An unsmiling child looks
out from his home in some
housing projects in Queens.
Already aware that Sleep and Death
share antecedents.

A man in boots and blue jeans,
head tucked down,
a lady on his arm,
walking down the center of a snowy street.


✖ Happy Birthday, Babyface.