Oh ye 2015

normally, years close quiet or loud

understandably, not all times do that

we had a lot to be grateful for this year

sometimes just a lot

garump garump garump

Oh one day with the sun in our eyes there will be...there will never be a day like in the long heat when the birds...formally, it seems there is always one more thing.

that's way less than twelve thousand

later at night, the contents of your cashmere drawer emptied, in switzerland, hanging precariously between steel poles, inside of a gondola, there are some things you don't want to have to ask. whose burnt out flashlight is this? oh, it's not mine, then who else is...wait, does anyone even? are we going to start moving again? yes, that is starting to feel more like...is that bread? does anyone have bread? are you telling me there is no bread in...why? for all the time you've been standing there with your back to the window whistling and looking at pictures of...no you are not helping, and i shouldn't have to ask this but...why? for real, why why why is there so much raspberry jam?

i am waiting for my response

clickety clickety clickety click, you say

Post haste

the deranged monkey farm is almost operational

don't make the cars start driving themselves

people, fish, oxygen-deprived citrus fruits of the world:

there are simpler ways to solve your problems than attaching beep beep beep mechanisms to everything that moves. and no, i do not need flashing lights. maybe a nice root vegetable or two? turnip and a dashboard clock. makes about as much sense as a sonic death ray that's supposed to kill you before you slam into the next parked car.

just stop trying to do what the other people are doing. yes, there's this nice line of four-wheeled objects squirmed as close as possible to the curb, but that means very little. it does not mean you are obligated, invited, recommended, or even permitted to flatten the vanillaberry milkshakes others have been carefully cooling by the roadside.

because what good is desert without a show?

Don't tell the worm farmers

It's almost impossible to get decent soil these days. First you have the ever expanding olive oil lakes, then there's the commuters and their cheese skis, and the worst thing is the way everyone is banging chili peppers into the soil all the time. It's like for real there used to e this deep dark delicious mess under us and now it's a sticky, smeary, firework-spicy disaster.

Can someone just mail me a new box of cookies?