Turn it one way, and it's blue, turn it another way, and it's red. Turn it one last way, and it's a seventeen pound carp, gape mouthed and frill whiskered, just waiting to be laid enthusiastically into somebodies' noggin.
FISH BEAT FISH BEAT FISH BEAT
Don't you dare judge me, what I do with my percussively enabled fish on my own time is my own business.
At least I'm not lighting it on purple fire and littering it all over the landscape, like some sort of hot hot hot hothouse flower, burning brightly, if briefly, and stinking of grease. Speaking of stinking of grease. Goblins, how do they work?
I know they try to work, very industrious little green maniacs. But every time I see them try and work just a bit too hard, someone invariably BOOM loses a finger. I bet I could open a finger shop, just gather up all the extra goblin fingers and put them in a bucket, then take that bucket, and slap a price tag on the front…. but then..yeah, I'd have a real problem with 5 finger discounts. It's not that I dislike Goblins, I don't, I find them gassy and unrepentant though. But a little EST usually fixes that (Extra Special Touching, the kind with a lot of volts and wires…). Just light them up like a candlewick, and you're got one heck of a candle.
Don't stand too close.
BEAT FISH BEAT FISH BEAT FISH
Someone accused me the other day of lacking in certain restraint. Can you imagine? The nerve of some people. Accusing me of being without restraint. Well, after I finished removing their extra limbs (nobody needs TWO hands, really. Why else were hooks invented?), I explained very delicately that I'd not had my tea, and couldn't be held accountable for their actions. They apologized, and their head and I have been fast friends ever since.
I just cannot stand it when people assume things about me just because I'm dead. For instance, I can't do anything about the gaping hole. I've tried putting things in it. All KINDS of things, but there it is, a whole hole. Ha ha, a little empty humor, about a hole..get it?
I put more brains in, but they just dribble out. I tried using what they say all human males think with, that didn't work either, and everyone laughed at me. I did get asked out a bunch by pretty girls though.
No matter. I'm happy just they way I am. Or you are. You should be happy with just the way I am. Because if I wasn't, you might be. Is it still stream of consciousness if I'm dry when I write it? I drink and I drink and I drink, but nothing seems to make me any less parched. This part isn't fun at all. No what your viewpoint is.
FISH BEAT FISH BEAT FISH BEAT
Don't you dare judge me, what I do with my percussively enabled fish on my own time is my own business.
At least I'm not lighting it on purple fire and littering it all over the landscape, like some sort of hot hot hot hothouse flower, burning brightly, if briefly, and stinking of grease. Speaking of stinking of grease. Goblins, how do they work?
I know they try to work, very industrious little green maniacs. But every time I see them try and work just a bit too hard, someone invariably BOOM loses a finger. I bet I could open a finger shop, just gather up all the extra goblin fingers and put them in a bucket, then take that bucket, and slap a price tag on the front…. but then..yeah, I'd have a real problem with 5 finger discounts. It's not that I dislike Goblins, I don't, I find them gassy and unrepentant though. But a little EST usually fixes that (Extra Special Touching, the kind with a lot of volts and wires…). Just light them up like a candlewick, and you're got one heck of a candle.
Don't stand too close.
BEAT FISH BEAT FISH BEAT FISH
Someone accused me the other day of lacking in certain restraint. Can you imagine? The nerve of some people. Accusing me of being without restraint. Well, after I finished removing their extra limbs (nobody needs TWO hands, really. Why else were hooks invented?), I explained very delicately that I'd not had my tea, and couldn't be held accountable for their actions. They apologized, and their head and I have been fast friends ever since.
I just cannot stand it when people assume things about me just because I'm dead. For instance, I can't do anything about the gaping hole. I've tried putting things in it. All KINDS of things, but there it is, a whole hole. Ha ha, a little empty humor, about a hole..get it?
I put more brains in, but they just dribble out. I tried using what they say all human males think with, that didn't work either, and everyone laughed at me. I did get asked out a bunch by pretty girls though.
No matter. I'm happy just they way I am. Or you are. You should be happy with just the way I am. Because if I wasn't, you might be. Is it still stream of consciousness if I'm dry when I write it? I drink and I drink and I drink, but nothing seems to make me any less parched. This part isn't fun at all. No what your viewpoint is.
