All of These Parties Outside the MicrowaveMike Young
My friend, I went to your stupid mine, carried in obligation's very hot mitten. Everything was ticked as Gift, Scar, or Luck. The new parasail made you look post-history, as we do feel, or feel-ish, long enough to fuck up. I did that eyebrows thing like good job. Then we stood on the roof, years of stilt training between us. We chewed Sudafeds and ham, chuckled at by all: all that passes for beloved these days. Why is cake in the shape of a rocket not you? Someone wants to draw your face and I say ransom. When my friend makes a good joke, my other friends are in the shower distantly, as the minutes of the sun left wait to be picked for the dodgeball of sentiment. Half the time I feel like U.S.S. Bitchface, and all the people line up to pet me. Other- wise, I cut burritos with a pizza slicer and you laugh and I think "if that is your real laugh, go to sleep. I want to steal it. Don't go."
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