Dorian Hargrove 8 p.m., Dec. 11
I know what I must do now! I must write my thoughts and discard them. I must continue to disregard females, The military legion of uniforms, their butts as useful tools of mobility, so that officers can have villas with Polynesian houseboys.
Last eve, I couldn’t put a blog on my space, because apparently some miscreant interfered with my freedom of speech or its method…may thy suffer maggots in their mouths!
I must control the drug sugar in my diet, since it causes weight gain, a feeling of euphoria thus almost a acceptance of Republicans, and unlimited urination.
That stated I will add more later…attempting to control the unleashing of images of J. Nicolson or A, Swalrzenegger wearing bright red B. Davis lipstich. Oy!, neighbor upholsterer has presented this sober living facility with a duckling as mascot…years ago, under a cold forlorn bridge in the panhandle of Texas, I wrote in my homeless pathos on its underneath wall, “I love you Daffy Duck” and proceeded walking on my S. Poitayea path to another nowhere. T. Hanks not even a remote consideration.