‘Morals are importless!’
be Tim’s by way of entrance(ment),
complacent commonplacers under the sway of subway.
‘Mind thy manners?’
No compa-rat-ive is there to a man who,
like knowledge of sewage,
exists only in the singular.
“And the (imm)oral of Tim’s proemblemishmatic,
downtown-bound definitions, beside(walk)s
Ethics being the science of mortals?”
There is no superlative of the contrary to the prevalent tone of sentiment.
Tim, who does not beg to differ, is immor(t)al (to a T).
Mickey tosses the summum bonbonum high
(wishes lower, but coulda, woulda, shoulda)
in the air . . .
On one hand, the one shading Mickey’s eyes,
Mickey is remorse-stricken for speculating
about that which is hidden.
On the other hand, the one signaling fair catch,
it is by the path of nonreturning that
olam-entary school is abandoned.
. . . and the lemon drop,
the supreme source of light while the sun is beyond the horizon,
returns the f(l)avor.
Jackson: Four bass strings are broken,
which is equivalent to no strings attached.
Slap Jackson on the back!
Johnson: The fallboard is shut,
which is equivalent to all piano keys locked.
Forever — knock on wood! — and ever.
Jimson: No snares, no repercussions. Can’t beat this one!
Jack plucks up thin air out of Jackson’s courage.
John magically loses touch with Johnson.
Jim hits the headlines.
Bob: Doubt is fully abandoned by entering the st(r)eam . . .
[Herbal, er, verbal irony turned situational — ed. Ted]
Bobby: The uninterrupted succession of schoolgoers
moving constantly in the same direction . . . ? [Ironize, er, iron out the question mark momentarily hanging over Bob.]
Bob: Doubt comes from the failure to retroductively negate
objective fallacies before one-pot synthesis of an opt-out letter.
Jackson: Global shortage in computerized potato
chips!!! One pringle, dude!, more pricey than
one Pringles tube filled with a stack of silver coins!!!
Johnson: Online lemon juice vendors’ doors
getting slammed!!! Beware the short squeeze!!!
Jimson: Not a sliver of silver!!! Golden (supply) chain
(of three-ply kitchen towels) the biggest challenge!!!
(Three guardian messengers uninsulated
Brian’s brain from Brian’s ears vibrating
‘Mix dirty rainwater with dry Harvard Business Review.’)
SEMICONDUCTORS CONVEYING SEMIGODS:
BETTER GLOBAL SHORTAGE THAN SHORT CIRCUIT.
CARD DECK SHY OF A FULL DECK NOW
COSTS MORE THAN A DOUBLE DECK.
(The capacity of Brian’s brain to conduct electricity was
where rubber met asphalt met the stenciled additions.)
J’SONS NOW RELYING ON BRIAN NOT LEAVING THE PRINT
EDITION OF The Wall Street Journal INVULNERABLE.
This nasty [tasty?] text highlights recent
progress Theia has made in proofreading
Ted’s intelligent-nanoparticle assay, er, essay.
Theia tried many [four?] smart nanomaterials
[namely: spit, sperm, squirt, shit]
for the immobilization of laugh [er, luff].
Ted-n’-Theia used their own bodies
as sigh-n’-signal generators-n’-amplifiers;
as well as fluorescent [floral scent?] quenchers.
No combination of the [de]tested goods
(goo + solid = goosebump + goosolid)
offers a great prospect for realizing
the one-n’-only way to come: as you are.
In ‘bon bonhomie,’ wannabee homies
the first bon is an intensifier.
Mickey’s lemon drop, classmates, keeps its unacquired, inborn, innate, . . .
mildly sour quality of being a good, yellow, solid, . . .
fellow alive for the whole —
“What Mickey sucks is what Mickey is: SUCKING SUCKER!!!”
— duration of lunch break, yet-another-time-to-kill
more bon(bon)homous posthumously than while corporeally present.
“Thank you for your attention!”
No take-to-playground message?
“Like ‘Mickey’s home is Mickey’s sandcastle’?”
“Next to the originator of
‘Mickey is what Mickey thinks roundabout all day long’”
is the first quoter of it.
Sidewalkers curbed-n’-pacified. Urban cameras as if eyed!
(Kudos to Tim the bellicose, to whom
the hell, an empty belly, is very close.)
Jay only one sidework hash (lisp),
two gravy (slip of the pacifier) missions
to accomplish, which Jay is pleased to specify:
One, to undo(NT WALK) the joining of Jay and baby stroller.
Two, to send…