The poem I once wrote about purple

Purple's a color with no rhyming word,
Oh what a shame for this rhythmless turd,
For no one I know to this day has heard,
A rhyme with a line that ends with purple.

A good friend of purple is orange it's said,
For orange and purple stand in the same stead;
And just as with purple nobody has read,
A poem that ends with the word orange.

And now for something compleatly different

What does it look like if you stand on the inside of a spherical mirror?

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Perhaps one of the most asked questions that people have is; "Whats so funny about a chicken crossing a road?". The metaphysical argument transcends explanation. The only remaining discussion can be based on "why isn't it funny?". Which is of course, in it's self, laughable.

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I had two separate dreams about eating McDonalds this week. I love it when my dreams and aspirations are so deeply and repeatedly satisfied for $4.50 a time. Oh yes. In every other dirty meaning as well. And your mom.

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I designed a kit that converts a pig into a remote control helicopter. Press crtl+alt+delete to Pre-order now!

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If you feed seagulls bi-carb they explode-- Its true.

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Wait... there's one more...

but i lost it...



Maybe if you stay long enough it will turn up?




It was ever so good...







oh well...

Winding path

I take you down a winding path,

Of bright-lit buildings 'neath night sky,

Where celebrations cast their joy,

To show you things you'd never spy.

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The velvet sky that glitters,

As I lie back in the canoe,

One hand with chips and fritters,

The other arm for you.

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A gust of cool, a gush of warm,

The flutter of the ropes and basket,

Beneath the curvey crimson bulge,

We sway above the world.

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With wings of steel and lungs of fire,

We plunge towards the clouds,

And as butterflies take flight within,

We rise toward the ground.

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... Run out of rhyme juice ...