I bought a coconut fashioned as some kind of tribal fertility fetish, and I looked at it, holding it in both hands, just kind of thinking if it worked or not, or had some roadside "artisan" just fleeced me.
Shot me through the grease, as it were.
Some vendor wearing an "Aztec Pride" tee shirt. Admiring my 300 SL Gull Wing.
At the Uneeda warehouse, in Louisville, they had a thing sort of like me. They said, "you can cut it into a thousand pieces, and the pieces will keep coming at you." Freddie always knew where to find a party.
They kept one of them in a drum.
Exquisitely marbled. That kind of beef content makes it more tender. The kind, thick cut, where you finish up and want to go to sleep. USDA Choice.
Trying to use techniques of non-violence and civil disobedience, kind of peaceful means, like standing in the middle of an intersection ready to get knocked over like the 10 pin. How to help Beautiful Bobby and Sweet Stan climb down from the scaffold in an efficient manner, worthy of Margaret Sanger, of course.
Both sides of the aisles agree, I would say, that the simple route is straight down.
No need to make it especially complicated, I reckon.
So, Hawk and Animal gave them some help. And you have to wonder why Sweet Stan would wear a flag shirt, anyway? But I didn't write the thing; I only saw it on home video. Quickest path? Find you a straight line, Hamlet, old boy.
"Methinks something is rotten in Denmark!"
Onto the canvas.
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