To Save Dad', reads the headline from Italy in Weekly World News, a story that includes pictures of the heroic but bloody torso of the boy. Which reminds me. True, some would argue it's the word we get Satyr from, but I don't like to think of myself as some cloven hoofed, horny little creature sniffing around trees. Well, it's taste, remember. Besides my satire is set while waiting at Love's traffic light, which makes it unique.
Pretzels are metaphysical.
Did you know a medieval Italian monk invented them in the year 610 in the shape of crossed, praying arms to reward his parish children. Everyone wants me to stick to a few simple points, or maybe no point at all, like the tepid broth those new formalists ladle into their demi tasse. Twilight chills in the puddles left by evening's rain. The tiny spider curled on the bulb begins to cast a huge shadow. No wonder time is against us.