Fiddlin’ and diddlin’, all morning long.
The winds are blowing through, that sounds like a jet engine.
Come one, come all. Come as you are, to the annual funny freak parade.
Done in a day’s time. Yup!
Lose the attitude. It’s truly demeaning.
Please sit. We need to talk.
Flies swimming in bowl of soup.
He’s known as the orange menace.
Riding the train to crazy ville.
Running through the maze called life.
She’s humming the rainy day blues.
Wondering, rendering gut-wrenching thoughts, is doing a number on his psyche.
The reporter for the local newspaper, fueled with excessive amounts of caffeine, is typing away like a mad man. His editor loves his work, even though he his in his own world, no one dares to tell him to slow down. The reason is, that a colleague told him to take a break, and that turned into a big mistake. The madman told him to shut the fuck up, and to mind his own fucking business. Needless to say, that was the one and only time that anyone would have the balls to say anything to him, about his habit.
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.
Without you the days seem to be meaningless.
Now that you are gone
the chair at the table
will always be there,
if and when you
decide to come back.
When he speaks, he can put a fruit fly to sleep.
He’s a loose cannon, extraordinaire. Yup!
He plays solitaire with a deck of 51 cards.
Speaking the truth is beneath him.
Opening the door to the unknown.
His boat is slowly taking on water. The crew are disobeying orders and jumping ship, one member at a time.
His train of thought has gone off the rails.
His brain is in sleep mode.
He’s known to be the worst of the worst, for making bad decisions.
Now boarding, the ship of fools.
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.
He is oblivious to his surroundings.
Skeletons can be found in his closet.
He can never tell a lie with a straight face.
She sleeps soundly on a mattress filled with stiff straw.
He’s a nonstop babbling brook of misinformation.
He’s in an inebriated frame of mind.
Smoke filled room
with cigarette butts
and remnants of Chinese
The life of a down
and out bachelor.
She’s lying naked on the grass, staring at the puffy clouds and pondering, what if …
What can one say, about the guy who is known to have shit for brains.
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 well known eccentric man of means, takes his battery operated toy poodle for a walk. When asked he walks a toy dog he replies, the dog needs to do its daily constitution. He tells people, that he is sick and tired of waking up in the morning, to see a puddle of pee, and a mound of shit on the floor. He never did say what he supposedly feeds the so-called dog, besides new batteries.
The planets are on a collision course of mass destruction.
He’s prone to having delusional thoughts.
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.
She dreads writing her final paper.
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.
Thinking logically is not his calling.
Standing under the spreading maple tree, he is fretting, and mumbling, as what he will say, to his long lost daughter. It’s been at least 10 plus years, that they had any contact.
She finally showed up, and it was an awkward feeling. A few minutes passed by, and the angst he was feeling was gone. They hugged, and we’re both misty eyed, then the conversing began. They told each other what they are doing with their lives.
The happy father and daughter went to the corner deli, had a nice lunch of sandwiches, coffee and let the bygones, be bygones.
He is the master of manipulation.
By day, he lives the life of a monk. In the evening, a con artist, is his vocation.
A night owl on the prowl.
The young couple, love dancing in the rain.
Gusty winds sweeping, across the plains of desolation.
A big glob of bird shit landed squarely on the top of the old man’s head. Not a great way to ruin an otherwise great day that he was enjoying, with his friends.
The aroma of beef stew, is intoxicating,
Joel would do anything, to see his long, lost love. He would walk bare foot on hot coals, a bed of nails or a flooded street. She meant so much to him, but he could not understand why she refused to see him. He would give it one more try and talk to her and if she still would not give him a satisfactory answer, as to why she ended it, then he would just go back home, and sit in his favorite chair, and stare at the four walls, to ponder, what if, and there were many what ifs.
She has the flair for like minded people.
He’s known as the man with the ogling eyes.
He tells a story, using flashcards.
The usher wore a speedo and flip-flops, while seating the guests, at his best friend’s wedding. It did not go well, for most of the people made sure to keep some distance from him.
On almost any given night, the insomniacs congregate at the mid-town diner, with cups of coffee to discuss the different reasons, of the whys they cannot sleep.
Preaching to the choir for harmony.
The green look on his face says, he had something to eat, that certainly did not agree with him. Hello bathroom.
The jury’s back. Not looking good.
Moaning and groaning is his calling.
After watching the hamster wheel for who knows how long, it made her drowsy. A few minutes later, she fell asleep, face down on a plate of scrambled eggs, loaded with ketchup.
He and she, will never see eye to eye, and it will always be like that.
She slept with the devil incarnate.
A nightmare on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
His breath wreaks of cheap booze.
His boat doesn’t sail on water.
His mind is filled with impure thoughts, accompanied with lust in his heart and loins.
Snake oil salesmen, awash in Washington.
Sign adhered on the merchant’s door says, “Gone fishing for fish, for my favorite aunt’s dinner.” “Wish me luck.”
He and she, will forever be.
On a beautiful warm day, he decides to go outside, and sits himself down on the stoop. He takes out his blues harp, and plays some down home blues. Some of the passersby stop to watch him, and love what they are hearing. That makes him a very happy guy.
The moon is dark.
The wolves are quiet.
Makes for an eerie feeling.
He is the man who never plans for anything. Just wings it, and he is fine with that.
Only the brave will walk in the darkness of a dense forest, and will come out unscathed.
Sitting in the shade, enjoying life.
He’s known as the “I said it, but I didn’t say it” guy.
Gazing at the white, puffy clouds.
She has a bad habit of mincing words, and she will never change. Its in her DNA.
Watching paint dry, could be exhilarating.
Whenever he has anything to say, he rambles like a babbling brook.