No, I’m not saying what you think I’m saying.
I was circumcised and there is no foreskin to peel back.
I am talking about my heart and you should get your mind out of the gutter.
I remember Ron House had a song where he wrote verses from the Bible on his foreskin. I’ve always found him to be a stand-up guy.
All those addicts in Columbus welcomed me into their oblivion with the precise miss-direction of a dharma bum and I do what I can to pay it forward to this day.
There is a method to the madness, now please stand back because I don’t know how big this thing gets.
I always want to start a new verse with let’s start and it’s really starting to annoy me.
I have to avoid getting comfortable in the La-Z-Boy of complacency that is the writers’ kryptonite.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my Grandpa Eddie’s typewriter and how it was a casualty to my rage. It’s frightening to think our entire planet could be gone just like that and all on account of one man’s negligence and our failure to act.
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