A lovely day at the park

It was a lovely day at the park.

And was there a bonnet? 

Of course there was.

You are god damn right there was a bonnet.

And it was a pretty bonnet.

Very pretty.

Like a bonnet could FAIL to be pretty. 

Ha ha. 

Don't be stupid.

That would be like saying 'there was a drum skin' that didn't make people say 'this isn't skin skin is it? That's gross'.

That would be like saying 'there was a swarm of hornets' without someone saying 'yum honey!' 

That would be like saying 'there was a hungry boy covered in hornet stings' without someone saying 'bet you tried to get hornet honey didn't you, don't you know that hornets never let you get their honey the first time, but it If you go back they respect you so much that they hand it all over without putting up a fight and even throw a couple of crumpets in the toaster for you?'

That would be like going to a hospital without someone saying 'hey there's that stupid kid who not just thought hornets made honey but who also fell for the ol' crumpet trick and is now in a coma after copping an almost lethal dose of hornet venom'.

That would be like someone not pointing out to me that hornet stings are not venom, but poison? Who knows, it hurts, that's all that matters. 

That would be like saying 'hey I have a drum' without someone saying 'hope you're going to take it to the hospital and try and wake up coma patients'.

That would be like saying 'damn it, I broke my drum skin at the hospital' without someone saying 'just get some fresh skin off a dead guy'.

So I think we've established once and for all that bonnets are pretty.

Like there was ever any fucking doubt.

I think the lesson is clear - if we wish to stop sexually exploiting the young women of the world we should force them all to wear bonnets.

You can't say 'wow your tits look awesome' when your mouth is already saying 'that's a pretty bonnet' and you can't add 'but also awesome tits' if the recipient of your praise is busy saying 'OF COURSE IT'S FUCKING PRETTY, IT'S A BONNET!' 

I mean no one sexually exploits the Armish! Well except their God, and parents and tribe or whatever. 

I've gotten off track. 

Back to the story ... it was a lovely day at the park, and was there a bonnet? 

Your god damn straight there was.

Regular god, Armish god, Indian god, name a god and you can be damn straight it that this lovely day at the park had a bonnet.

I noticed because when the loveliness of the day as spoiled when the bear came and ate that lady, it coughed up her bonnet. 

I probably could have scared it off with my drum, but I was too busy going 'ick, it's not skin skin is it?' 

Scented? - A Poem

Peter wanted a new bottle of face wash.

'John at the gym keeps boasting' Peter will complain 'he just won't stop "oh I don't buy soap, I just use whatever my wife leaves in there" he'll say, "I don't know, some sort of face wash I think" he'll add when pressed for details' Peter will explain. 

'What brand?

What scent? 

What's the active ingredient?

IS there an active ingredient?

What color is it? 

How's the consistency and texture?

Is it oxygenized? 

Is it environmentally friendly? 

Is there a picture of sea-life on it?

Or flowers?

Or even fruit? 

Answer my questions.

Stop ignoring me. 

I AM actually here.

I am asking you questions! 

Can you not see that I'm real and here and asking you questions?

Answer me! 

I have feelings.

Do you think I do not have feelings?

Because I do! 

I can see.

I have got senses.

Multiply senses.

I can hear.

I can smell.

You don't think I have the sense of smell?

You don't think I deserve to have that sense inspired with beautiful imagination enticing descriptions of skin cleaning products, face wash to be more specific? 

What is wrong with you?

What the HELL is wrong with you? 

Why are you treating me this way? 

Why aren't I worth your consideration?

I want to be considered damn it! 

Consider me'. 

He'll add.

'I don't know, I just use whatever my wife leaves in there, some sort of skin washing cream, possibly a variety of face wash if you'd like me to be more specific' John will reply.

'Agghhhhh! Aaaaaggghhhhhh! AAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!' Peter will say.

It turned out Peter had a bit of a thing for skin washing products, I believe face wash to be more specific, if I remember correctly. 

It was hard to blame him.

He WAS merely a pore on the right lower cheek of Clive Smithwick the best damn chimney sweep this side of the Calstone river. 

And Peter was fed up with being covered in soot, or worse filled with a pimple, and missing out on those sweet, sweet inside of the chimney views. 

And let's be honest, I'm sure this is a saga we can all relate to.