I was boasting around the bottle, one dreary October Day, funneling my fumes in a mousy, kaleidoscope way. Then my rear came up to my ear and blathered a sad hymn in honor of the many woofs and meows that gave their lives each day. I wasn’t sure of which bacon double cheeseburger was to blame, but I knew that it was a cruel past time that was suffered by so many little old ladies from farm to fetching froth and in between. Can you guess what was in my cannery that day? So many roaches doused with hemlock, grieving for reparations undone.
Stumbling along the sidewalk 