From where we are all born.

If you are so frequently in love.

An ode to a beard. A beard on my face.

This, on my face, is a beard. A beard that will be shaven off within the next couple of days assuming everything goes to plan. It is a good beard, some may even say, a strong beard. The hairs, they shine in their new found length as do my bristles, who seek commanding union to my face. My beard is a good beard.

So it is here, at this impasse of man and hair, that I bid you farewell. May the crossroads of lazy and I don't give a fuck never meet once again.

Goodbye dear friend.

Sometimes, I like touching my back.

I know it sounds strange to admit something like this but I generally don't like to cut corners on these invisible tracks of self-actualization. Discussions about smooth backs included.

So now, as you sit baffled within my unending barrage of half-pinted idiocy, I urge you to slowly follow the creases within the folds of your skin. Funny feeling no? These little canyons explored delicately by the nails of a debaucherous animal. Every adventure, a new one. This fold has never been seen before, much less felt, so ask yourself: What mysteries do your bunched cells contain? Thousands of tons of atomic power callously strewn aside by a mortal. The power to collapse a million suns into liquid chaos.

Ever think what the universe would look like on a fundamental level? A giant orgy of heat gas and light, each thriving against one another, begging for the others mercy.

My back, is a special place I think.

Let me hear you scream out for more.

Don't FUCK with a gangster.

I feel like a funny guy today.

Did you hear about the frog who parked in the handicap spot? He ended up getting his car toad. I'd also tell you the one about the fence....but you'd never get over it. I could possibly even fathom writing the one about butter.... but i'm worried your just going to spread it.

Much like the two silk worms who had a race to just end up in a tie, these jokes will just end up like the one about the airplane. It's just going to go over your head.

They say a good pun is it's own reword, but I on the other hand want to be like two hats hanging on a hat rack in a hallway, careless while moving on a head. It's kind of like setting one's house on fire, it's quite alarming and much like an old lawyer these jokes never die, they just lose their appeal.

So it is here that I end this verse like two puppets who enter relationships with no strings attached:

What has two legs and bleeds a lot? Half a cat.