To paraphrase Francis Bacon, or his doppelgänger, “Hope is a good breakfast, but an ill supper.” Apparently he had no idea what constitutes a good meal. Who eats hope? Hope is composed of empty tasteless calories. In fact, I’ll go as far as to say, his tongue was a complete dolt.
Here is an example of conflict and complication in this country. The animals have become so racially insensitive. I saw a goose Hitler-stepping in front of a Jewish retirement center.
The toupee on top of the mayor’s head was skewed, which made his face look terribly uneven. The staff wanted to tell the poor man to adjust it, but instead they remained silent in fear they might hurt his fragile feelings. There was a great sense of relief when a piano fell from the sky and crushed him to death. At first, there was great horror, followed by laughter. One witness pointed out, “It’s so fucking crazy how things work out, the easiest solution to a complex problem. God has the weirdest sense of humor.”
And now, a mash up.
If I had to choose a mentor, it would either be Andy Partridge of XTC or David Bowie. Since one is no longer alive, hello Mr. Partridge.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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