My Name Is Stereo-Type: Fraidy Cat In Red Neck CountryIn the breadth of the winterized morning of a backseat driver that dives into the traffic jam of life after 5 PM, that is when spoken to about jobs that don’t exist after the fact of jelly beans softly rotting on the sides of weird peoples’ throats as they merrily, merrily enjoy the stroking cigaretted teeth of strange cab drivers who have (a) real attitudes about any city than theirs!
Why shit! If white Unitarians, black Catholics, yellow Christians and red Processors all got together and started another war, love letters would be brought in by teddy-laced Catsup bottles that throttle Coke cans for breakfast, garbage cans for lunch, good-looking men for dinner at Staley’s and transient creatures for midnight snacks.
Feh!
The heck with Woo-Woo the horseman, the guy with the tooth decay policy who is set by the standards that are...
Well you know, it’s just that lo and behold the magic (magic) kingdoms of St. Louis, Chicago, Milwaukee and Seattle and fascists, young ones that believe if you sport a beard and make eye contact with young males then you’re considered gay.
I never knew that insulting was a custom ‘round here and the mere fact of the matter is, I’ve been sitting too long and I wanna go home and the sooner I’m out of St. Louis the safer I’ll sleep!
