Shometimesh a man ish shimply burshting with inshpirashion.
Shometimesh he ish not.
Shay la Vie, ash Mrsh C would shay.
A few minutesh ago a thought came to me and it turned into a wee poem. I reprodushe it below with no apologiesh or amendmentsh
Oh, you, man with the fashe of a shad walrush, in the ‘who to follow’ boxsh, you, whoshe lamentable moushtashe ish an offenshe to humanity..
Oh you, woman with panda-eyesh, you with your shcarlet lipsh open in a come-hither shmile, you who make my heart prosheed at normal rate..
Oh you, wee beashtie-drawing-thing, you, avatar of shomeone without aeshthetic shenshe, you great galumphing nattering nagsh, you..
Oh you many, many shtrange, shurreal entitiesh, you with nothing to shay, you with loud mannersh, you with tiny eyesh, you with knobsh on…
You, confushing cashesh of arreshted development, you hammier than hambonesh with your plunge neclinesh & plush padding, you public people..
You who exshisht only ash pixshelsh on my shcreen, who might in fact not exisht at all, you who purport to be alive & yet exshude nothing..
You who write poetry in darkened roomsh, you who read thrillersh in the bath, you who cook mealsh for 2 you eat yourshelf, you who float..
You, for whom I’m writing thish tweet, you whom I shall never, ever meet, you with two opposhing & peculiar feet, you, all of you, you…
(it probably needsh a better ending, but I’ll leave it ash ish for now.)
Copyright @ BTC April 20th 2012