Finals eat big papa and drive thrift trucks through yellow cheese holes in the blue moon off the ice planet of Zeebob, which is centered in the blue dyed pond in front of my ex-wife's husband's dog's igloo house planted firmly on the edge of the smallest Desert Inn island of the back west parking lot next to the local university, which is teaming with the sounds of newborn babies - a direct result of kissing storks, contrary to unknown facts about asexual worms in heat, which is another fib entirely - which brings me back to my finals that are causing stress molecules to accumulate in my shoulders!
(I think he needs a Xanax and sleep... quickly...)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Your husband, though I love him dearly, is looney tune!
and for those that don't realize I posted this comment at 5am... that's supposed to read "...is A looney tune!"
Hmmm. Creative. Sounds like one major nightmare. But then, finals can be a nightmare. Hang in there. You are on the downhill ride. Love you, Mom H.
Post a Comment