blog post 1A Story by mrmiagiblog post 1Blog post 1 I’m high as balls, my dear reader. How are you? You open with a statement like that, you gotta tie the whole thing up real nicely. Suddenly, you�"my dear reader�"expect good writing. F**k. Just my luck. I got hit with a frickin truck. Duck. They’re throwing grenades from the rafters. Stuck. I’ve recently become friends with the spider that lives in my brain. Well, the spider actually lives in my mind. My brain also lives in my mind. Time, too. “Time to go!” “Peter!” “Peter, we’re gonna be late!” Peter, hopping into the room on one foot while struggling to get into his second pant leg: “I’m coming, I’m coming.” I often apologize on entropy’s behalf, like that’s gonna fix things. What happens when the rules become conscious? Basketball is my favorite sport; I like it when they dribble up and down the court. Basketball. The good ol’ American pastime. I think that golf is the soul of athletics. A man, a ball, a hole, a club. Nature, a playing partner, and the sand traps. Run laps. Around my mind, around the track. That’s Whack. I’m still sippin’ moonshine. (I’m actually sipping Evan Williams). Music riddles my mind. I found my way out of time. I couldn’t finish the idea. I often admit defeat as a way of saying, “there’s a part of me that’s better!”. I don’t know whether to put a period after that second quotation mark, but it feels like I should. You know what, I’ll put one Rearrange the alphabet, and what do you get? U and me. IT’s a joke you see. They never want to f**k with me. They see my history. Listerine. For my breath it’s stinky. I broke my pinky punching a window in a psych ward last week. They think I’m a freak! Sheesh. For the b*****s. Clear enough to the universe that the tournament is the bible. Tribal law; perhaps tribal lawyers. Do you f**k with foyers? Neuer is thirty yards out of his box! The crowd loves it. His mother adores it. It makes his stomach queasy. That month was freezing. © 2021 mrmiagiReviews
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