This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
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Tuesday, May 8, 2018
Long, Strange Road Trip (Blogophilia 10.11)
Tooling down the highwayIn a stretch limousineTell the driver to pull off To get some caffeineWe were waitingFor the line to flow forthAn advert looked backFor a nudist resortDriver went to the headI sipped hot liquidAnd wondered whatThat place would have listedToo much sunToo much drinkNekkid people frolicking A communal sink.Amenities shownWith attractive ladiesYou can’t pray a lie, I found that out.None were liabilities.Too much fleshTo be under the sunToo much informationTo be such fun.“How far is this place?”I asked the driver with a poutHe caught me by the arm“Three miles due south”Another adventure?I thought with a smirkAs I piled into The back of the MercOh, why not?My driver agreed.It would be larkBeing all freed.A small white signSat at the drivePointing through the woodsWhere we should strive.And strive we didRoostertail in our wakeTo have our skinMarvelously baked.Without promptingOur shirts levitatedAs our hopes Would be satiated.Small openingBecame largerThrough the tunnel of treesBreathing became harderThere’s the lake on the leftTo the right a small cabinTen police carsAnd the ladies in the Paddy Wagon.“Dear me!” I said to my driver.“Spin this beast around.It is bestIf we got back to town!”Fate was with usThe Fuzz was too busyTo worry about Two loony Lucies.The moral of this storyIs simple to findThere really are placesThe sun is not supposed to shine.