Wouldn't you know it - dropped to earth by
a six-tonne blood-sucking Buddah, clasping the Tao
written in Shakespearian-full-blooded-English-prose
but turned back to front and signed by Nietzsche.
Carl Jung promised to take me camping
to Nurenburg to watch Hitler dance the
waltz with Churchill's mother. What in the
name of gOD where they thinking when they
let him take our temperatures?
I'm hot. Too hot.
Somebody stick a cork in me, I can't stop the cognitive-bile from spewing out of my neck.
This could get messy.
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