More well meaning gibberish

There’s no treading on my feet. There’s no kneading of bread. There’s no burning my hand on a George Foreman grill. There’s no loss of balance at higher altitude. Not with with me mate. Not with me. 

I got flip flops where my hands should be friend. I got chianti from a Polish decanter. I got saucepan lids, bits of fluff and I have failed to be a key player in a number of people’s dreams. I get to be a keyboard player in my own bontempi story, ineptly hitting b flats at inappropriate moments in the school play. A triangle player of doom and no mistake guvnor. 

3 Responses

  1. dt says:

    Groover, you stream-of-consciousness nutjob, you will appreciate this, others of your kind, insulting each other:

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