And perhaps, if life is true, we might walk again. To skulk after our children and make them crazy-er. To graze in an Amherst county field might be stupid, yet to dream, but if our blessed milk might give more life, then sure howdy.
I think I might hate my parent's computer more than I hate my parents, because the keyboard is awkward and the television is always on.
Please ask Mrs. Christine Snodgrass to put the Dr. Phill on the Oedipal connotations on all of this. Git-R-Dun for her. Because it is her birthday and I love her like a queer cowboy on a Montana mountaintop git-a-way.
I mean Gitt-urr-dun like any ignorant shit that ever screwed his cousin in a trailer and needed to git his dingle dragged off by a number nine hitch. Get-her-done for her.
Because she strives everyday, for herself, for her art, and for her family. Especially; For her art, and for her.
For her pretty mommy's hair. And for her Patience. And her love.
Ah crap this used to be a poem. Zombies zombies zombies! Here at the last minute!
Zombies loves Chrissy2006 yeeauurghh-yee-ha!
ClayClay the Brokeback Homo Cowboy
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