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WMD By jfarrell Dressed in my fred flinstone trunks, Riding my silver surfer surf board; I crest the wave of fire, I crash into the wave of ice And howl in fury. That bloody unicorn’s got my bag of weed! I crash up against a barrier and feel myself enve
WMD
By jfarrell
Dressed in my fred flinstone trunks,
Riding my silver surfer surf board;
I crest the wave of fire,
I crash into the wave of ice
And howl in fury.
That bloody unicorn’s got my bag of weed!
I crash up against a barrier and feel myself enveloped,
Spider’s web spinning about me
Faster and faster…..
Damn…. this is a nifty looking space suit….
How does it work?
Of course!
Control panel on left arm (it’s in all the films).
WHOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH…….
That unicorn ain’t getting away with my weed!
I rise over my black, silvery ocean of flu
And look around…
THERE!
At the epicentre….
There’s my bag of weed…
BOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!
As I explode into a half dozen quick sneezes,
Which brings me to 2-3 minutes of coughing my lungs out…
I find the coffee I’m looking for and reach for it.
I can barely register the supermarket about me, my very empty basket.
A virus is at work in my body;
Recreating it’s nastiness and passing it on with my every breath;
But I still gotta do the shopping;
Haven’t eaten in 3 days.
