Toronto Breakfast Vestments

Meanwihle, inside the Pale Frown of the Universe…

“I think Obama’s honey-moon is over.”

The firmament arched like a vast emptiness like the emptiness between Matrimonions, the married onions that act as surrogate married couples for people in love who dont’ want to ruin that good feeling. My plan wasn’t working. banality might be insufficient, like a clown with an egg. Yet I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

Presumed innocent, I awoke in a living man’s body within the pale white chamber of medical absorption. How long had i been in my dormant state? Reason slowly tickled back into my grinning brain, giddily obliterating all mirthful musing on the nature and function of my predicament. Was it the type of predicament that would lead to fruitful self examination, providing me with the sorts of rhymes that could make me an interstellar cat-lander? Or was it the type of predicament that would ultimately serve only to give me grain, bushel upon bushel of fat yellow grain, glutinous and lovely!