Budgie’s Journal #173 – See You at the Flea Market
I need new socks. My old ones have holes in them, and my big toe is in my shoe, unprotected. I need new boxer shorts too. Same issue with the socks but with a different body part.
Some days I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I can put a story together like a puzzle with no picture on it, but there’s those days where nothing should make any sense.
I’m a local draft with a generic error. I’m a blank slate with writing on the back where you don’t think to look. I’m a space bandit and you’re a mermaid cowgirl.
I’m the dry-erase board with a dirty limerick some asshole wrote in permanent marker.
Grammar is subjective. Proper art is important. Your boss didn’t read your email before he went on vacation. Golf sucks.
Have you cheated on your diet or your spouse? Have you tried to do both at once? All you need is Tinder and a tub of Cool Whip. You can really mix things up by using Cheez Whiz. I call this doing it “nacho style”.
The water in Waterbury, Connecticut gives you bladder cancer. The word “water” is in the town’s name, and it gives you fucking cancer.
There’s nothing fun about clowns.
Do you know the proper way to close out a blog post?