It’s probably broken. Beyond fixing. Go ahead and go to the top of that mountain. Go boy fishin’. I’m hungry and I’ve lost it, so don’t mind the words. Just the logical consequence of sarcastic saturation in my life. Everything is spinning around or has probably stopped moving. No difference. The conflict — it’s gotten to my digestive system, inducing me to have frequent, regular, increasingly fatal gagging movements. Oh, run now! Run with all the men, the unshaven good-looking men who took a bath last Friday before a particularly sticky drinking session with all the girls in the audience ’cause they are godly rockers sent by Hades. Let this tired guy with no balls rest his flat head on a sweat-soaked pillow. It has been broken for a long time. Leaking with the most viscuous juice of guilt and shame only the pig of love can secrete. It’s broken. Broken. Broken.