My font is American. So are my issues. So is everyone’s. Vices and clothing, hear me do not. For my language is American. Your car is a WesternBrand. So is her everything. America is death, destroyer of worlds. Her teeth are American (to my relief).
And life is good again: thanks America.
Braids americana, her dog speaks Yorkshire. Motor incidents: Massachusetts Cars Insurance. Red roses and blue velvet for the North American scum.
American, American, God is an American, joy plus my demise.
She resembles a wasted opportunity gone viral.
Chapter 1
His name is Robetr. Named after a tree of quicklove hurricane. Misspelled by action and repetition.
He stole used farmtrees, those shiny ink-screen typewriters. He sold them as limited collection items. I bought him one that “belonged to Asia Powells”. But you don’t know Asia Powells. And you don’t know farmtrees. Or pilotees. It doesn’t matter anymore.
And so he sold me a defective farmtree, and I cared to call him. He forgot to put a fake number, turns out. Why, oh Robetr, of all misspelled men. And so our friendship began.
Chapter 2
I numbed into her shirt, sorry, blouse. We were dark ephemeral in white lights. Then a shotgun sound. A beaten-up deer in pink dress came crawling to us and asked for survival. Came out of nowhere.
Robetr had become an animal lover. The case is closed.
That’s it, guys. Now go on. Can’t keep them waiting. This sun is killing me. Mariah, bring me a drink. Pepsi Twist! Erik, let the next gentleman in. Hmm hmm hmm. ♪Braids americana, her dog speaks english♪. ♪Massachusetts Cars Insurance♪. Morning sir, how can I help you? What do you mean by “give me toro”? Gee. Barely got enough Diesel to sell.
Mariah, look at his face. What a foul!
