Some things in life are not meant to make sense. The paranormal. Antimatter. Fox News. Life itself.
Correspondence with friends also falls into this category. I present the following exchange as proof.
It may not make sense but a strange poetry is held within…
“Hello Heavenly Master Bhutan Prince,
I’m actually busier than Uzbek cotton picker. How exciting. if already there, how you been sir?
no sign yet of the mystery package … but I’m positively torrential excitement.
ayaah. I’m so lucky lah. Phooey.
I’m sure there was much interesting and treats around, but nothing is emerging today. Ho hum.
And I have to know that fishing for shrimp Napoleon was the idea, not mine. perhaps no more than fish to recover please ….?
You remain, an aquatic leviathan
I remain, a giant air”
and the response…
“Hello devil duke lover Botswana,
Deserve to be busier than real bottom wiper Buckingham Paclace.
The week has flown and Friday greets us, nuzzling our groins as a puppy Randy search for milk man.
This morning was small and toxic. Like a whore garbage.
I had the essence of it. Something about rummaging bit Napoleon fish.
It remains a sick fish
I remain, A wretched Marlins”
