A.G.E's Joint

 "So, Marvin." Wolfe sighed. "What's your gut instinct on this?" Marvin looked up, an eye hanging out of the socket. "Vince needs to stick to Quarter Pounders Royale. He can't shoot worth shit!"

  It's writer's choice week here at the Blogo. We'll do a 15-minute open write It's an exercise in clearing your mind and seeing how badly you type. Grammarly has already flagged three errors, so it seems to be working.  I could turn this into a rant about the current political situation. I'll just say I've ordered a neck cushion for my Handbasket. I expect nothing but a bumpy ride from here on out.  If you brought George Carlin back from the dead, he'd scream to go back. My phone just had a nextdoor ring. Probably the latest deer sighting. That's better than the latest Trump sighting.  I've been looking for something to make fun of, but everything is so crazy it just can't be done. And if you do, the Offending Me crowd will launch a thousand posts to try and drown you out. I'm going to call it here. If I say anymore, people will scream And that is good. 

  Port bound Makes me restless The crazy ship of fools Calls me  Play with dolphins Brave the sharks Bury my grief in the sea

 They say there is safety in numbers Not anymore Crowds press in Gobbling air. Leaving me  Spellbound At the noise.

 In a line, I see her Kind of petite Seriously curvy Tex Avery dancer Or maybe Jessica Rabbit But shorter I'll play patty-cake And more Make it so.

  It's time. I must go. You can't hold me forever In the shelter of moss and twigs. A world awaits of shoals For my raft To succeed Or fail.