As Long As The Battery Lasts

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Frank's sauce is bourbon, not beer!
There's two of you and one of me. Not that it matters, really. There's always a thought that perhaps there are seven of you and two of me. That's how it should be.

Enough of [e]

I had a [d], but it was a bit dilapidated and I told it to shave and it moved away wearing a double breasted suit, a white shirt and a red silk tie. I can't remeber what color the suit was. It's difficult to remember fabrics and their texture when you're so concerned about their smile.

He had a toothy grin, which scared me. His teeth looked like a carpet, albeit a white carpet, but still a carpet.

I don't know why, but I like the word carpet, as if it could be a car pit.

Oh, geez. This is bad.

It's worse than TV. Maybe that's a good thing.

What if there was a god?

What if there was more than one god?

Would they have a fist fight to see who's a badder-ass god?

I'd put my money on the god who had a bigger battery.

The battery's not dead, but Frank Sauce is.

Ciao from now.


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