Were I to buy a kangaroo, I’d keep it chained to my wrist like a big fuzzy briefcase so that people could stop & point and say, “doesn’t that kangaroo look so cute, standing there holding that guy’s credit cards?”

“I think, therefore I am.  Whereas Belgian waffles?  Dumb as a Pope’s hat.”

“It’s not enough that we do our best; sometimes we have to drink prune juice.”

I dreamed I saw Evangeline Lilly’s nipple last night—brown as a bark chip, hard as a carved diamond. And given that, does this poem really  need     an         end-                 ing…?

“I have a dream that one day this nation will buy me a damn pony!”

“We have nothing to fear but fear itself.  Well, that, and fucking barn owls…”

Sears Automotive “repaired” my truck and two weeks later it’s all screwed up again—belts slipped from realigned pullies, leaving my wife stuck in a foot of      heavy snow. Of course, some might say, “Hey, now. It’s your own fault, pal, getting your truck repaired at a place known for overpriced Kenmore appliances.” To which I answer,      “Oh, blow me.”

I’m not too fond of chocolate mousse, — though I’m not sure why, exactly. Perhaps it has to do with its contrived airiness, or its gaudy price tag coupled with a truly pretentious name. In fact, now that I think about it, the stuff reminds me of a tanned Paris Hilton spooned into some fancy stemmed dessert glass—only without the promise of sloppy drunken sex easily saved to my hard

for Albert Camus I can’t remember where I left my stupid keys. And yes, I’ve checked my pants pockets, and looked in the ignition.  Thing is, though, it turns out I have no place I need to be today, anyway.  Which, there’s a load off my mind, I must say…

Be honest, Steny: does this cream of mushroom soup make my ass look fat?