Excrescences
- At May 14, 2007
- By Bob Howe
- In Blog Posts
5
From today’s Get Fuzzy:
I am bloated with steamy wondrousness. My poems are not so much written as they are excreted.
Really, I couldn’t have said it better myself.
From today’s Get Fuzzy:
I am bloated with steamy wondrousness. My poems are not so much written as they are excreted.
Really, I couldn’t have said it better myself.
keikaimalu
Didn’t know you wrote poetry. 🙂
eleanor
Sweetie, it was not in your best interest that I saw that first sentence.
admin
Let’s just say Donald Hall isn’t losing any sleep over my output.
admin
But I thought you liked the steamy wondrousness! And wasn’t that a Barry White song?
eleanor
That’s not the point. Just imagine this: It’s late. You’re almost asleep. The dog is at your feet, a cat is on your head, and a redhead is next to you. That’s when, from out of the darkness, an entirely too cheerful voice exclaims “Steamy wondrousness!”