He claims he is a wise man, yet he speaks utter nonsense.
The happy man is spreading good cheer with happy dust.
As they are drinking lemonade that was given to them last year, which as gone bad, Willie and Wilma are watching the stray mutt, shitting on their neighbors flower bed.
Two nasty alley cats are going at it, while Willie and Wilma are eating burnt, dry toast.
Willie and Wilma are at the kitchen table, drinking day-old brewed coffee, and both are wondering why it tastes like shit.
She’s basking in the fake sun, reading fake news, and working on her fake tan.
She’s dreamy eyed, and tongue tied.
Wearing his favorite Space Cadet pajamas, he watches TV in his favorite chair, and mumbles away to himself.
Not a good day, to deal with the village idiot. He is really, really out to lunch.
He spouts off so much bullshit, he has a shovel and bucket, to clean up his crap.
She said, your hearing me, but not listening. He said, oh.
Made a fresh pot of coffee, and she never showed up.
He never does what the play book says to do. Just wings it, and hopes for the best out come.
He’s a firm believer, of tin foil hat conspiracies.
Riding the express train of thoughts.
Eyes like daggers, panties wadded up in a knot, he knows not to say a word.
As she was heading to the door, she hollered out “never again, never again, you ruthless shit bag.”
The compass is pointing him straight to the gates of hell.
Walking onto a pile of shit.
Tick tock. Bing Bong. Wake up.
The winds are blowing through, that sounds like a jet engine.
The streets have an eerie feeling.
Orange man doesn’t save the day.
A dyed-in-the-wool jackass.
He’s known as the number one, incorrigible asshole.
Sleep walking in a mid-town, trash filled alley.
Clairvoyant said, “The future looks bleak.”
The unicyclist, loves to entertain the folks while playing the fiddle.
All aboard the train of thoughts.
His train of thought has gone off the rails.
He’s known to be the worst of the worst, for making bad decisions.
Now that his ego got the best of him, he wonders what his friends will think.
The members of the local chapter of the rainy days blues fan club, is now in session.
For no reason, she is all grins and giggles.
Having an enlightening conversation with a clothing store mannequin.
Throughout the city, the blanket of dense fog, has that eerie feeling.
Waiting for the train to nowhere.
The planets are on a collision course of mass destruction.
Mr. Idea Man is down in the dumps, because he cannot think of any new ideas. He’s hoping it is only a temporary lapse, as people of all walks of life, come to hear him. If he doesn’t, he may have to look for another line of work.
He is so full of shit, there’s absolutely no room for toilet paper.
The local potty mouth club, is now meeting in the town park, with coffee and donuts, for their weekly gabfest of gutter talk.
He said, “Oh shit.” She told him to watch his mouth. So for the rest of the day, he looked into the hand held mirror, never to put it down.
He’s known as the bloviating airhead.
He uses a fork to eat potato chips.
He’s known as the man with the dead pan voice of ribald humor.
He’s known as the village’s number one neat freak.