Here I sit, reading a book
with no idea what to cook.
I wonder where to look
to find out why rhyming sucks.
I have no frown for you to see.
It is only I for who is he.
What makes sense is little known,
for logic alone is sense indeed.
If nothing is to come from you,
at least it be from me.
I don't know what makes me do
the things in life that smell.
All I know is that life is clean,
especially when outside.
If all life is but a stage,
who cleans the floor when I pass out?
I don't know, let's ask Steve
who lives in my pinky.
When I go out there,
I am really out here.
Places to see, places to go,
places to dee, places to do.
If you said 'dough' for the last part,
you are officially insane.
Congrats!

 

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Blank we sit, black and red
on the iron kettle.
When the kettle boils,
you fall down.
When the kettle falls down,
you get up.
When you run in circles,
the kettle falls down.
Why does the kettle boil and fall down?
I don't know.
Ask the sheep that tend the field,
for milk and booze.
Tell them that the iron kettle sent you.

Pained is he who looks at glass.
Riddled is he who runs indoors.
When life gives you a button,
you kick it in the nuts.
Running is quite fun,
especially while wearing clothes.
Clothing tends not to run,
simply because it exists.
Why do things that exist remain existant?
You tell me.
Why does life move faster than things that exist?
I tell you.
Who can deny the importance of such things?
Who can deny that I wear no pants?
I cannot, for I wear them on my elbow.
The paradox of life is that we live without q-tips.
And by live, we mean not die.
So we die with q-tips,
because they are sharp and cottony.

 

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Blind is he who sits on me
and wears the giant turtle.
What day comes to those who buy it,
when it can be taken from yesterday?
Today is like any other food group,
except that today is no longer a food.
For what are we to do with this,
when all we have left is us?
I remember a time when you and I were edible,
but food was not know for political powers.
Potatoes have eyes to see,
but do you know who it is?
I know that you see things clearly,
especially when night smells so good.
It seems that cheese knows too much about you,
for it tells me your every dream.
But what does cheese know when it is simply swollen?
I don't know. Perhaps it is just butter.
If food can come alive, must we eat it to live?
What a question to ask tomorrow.
Glass tends to reveal the truth about stuff,
especially when it's cold.
What if glass could reveal the truth about stuff?
Would you still eat it?
Politics today are in a state of order.
Order comes to those who wait.
Orders come to those who order stuff,
or perhaps to those who take them.
Running amok is no easy task,
especially with underwear around your nose.
But perhaps it is not you who is running,
but someone else with underwear on their nose.

 

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When dogs talk, people listen.
If men were there, we'd all be here.
Why must things that are there not be here?
Logic escaped the mind of cheese,
for we know that cheese is super.
What makes super cheese?
Cows. Simply cows.
If two ducks walk alone,
are they really alone?
Think about that while I steal a night.
To steal a night, or make one out of macaroni?
Oh, such things to think of when stupid.
Stupid is as stupid isn't.

 

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When I smell your face, it reminds me of a car accident.
When two people have food, it is like having food, but with another person.
When tacos and burritos are made of the same thing, they are really in fact a mutant taco thingy.

 

 

There once was a guy named smalley, and he had a problem with his ear.
His ear would hear things that were loud, thus this is the story of smalley and how he defeated the evil communist orcs.
Later, he went out to eat tacos and ran a black market of mustard and wires.
(the wires turned out to be sushi, however, which explains why his head smelled like pickles)
Once the smell of pickles left the air, a giant baby appeared and ate smalley.
Smalley reformed into his original form thingy and lived happily ever after,
until the space weasels ate his previously eaten head and threw up his head.
His head became an exhibit in a museum where heads are put when they smell like carpet.
Carpet has a very interesting history of being resistant to stupidity,
which brings us to the story of the smalley that could.
But then smalley got called on duty at the taco factory, where he furthered his black market thingy.
Once people bought stuff from smalley, his head grew back and he lived happily until his eyes fell out,
which only happened 10 minutes before, which would make the thing I said wrong because of the laws of time and space and physics and pie.
Pie has a tendancy to make people forget they are eating it,
and it makes people think they eat pie when in fact they are not,
cuz it's not really pie, but a cake.
I like cake...