A giant nothing bomb just went off in my head!

Hot concrete, I just need to lay it out on the hot concrete man! Push that chalk around, kneel down and kiss my worries away to Satan, master concrete heater. Where are you in January when I need your special flaming powers?

I dream of gooey asphalt sludge rippling in the Sun o’ Death, cry as you wail, the life giver is the life taker. I am bound by gravity as it tears at me, a fledgling Icarus no more motivated after watching the pro eat up radiation like a lightning bug in the fluorescent blue electric kill zone. Damn him and his megalomania ignorance. This is bigger than us, it’s massive like my shoe dancing around an ant, the ant doesn’t care, and I shouldn’t. So the Sun blows up or irradiates us like a piece of old dead meat cooked to leather quality, you sit there in line at the Easter buffet and the butcher grins at you and the roast beef looks like the face of a ranch hand Aussie whose face has seen more sun than a teen stoner has seen cheese puffs, oh the cheese puff shouldn’t it be a flavor of tobacco, yes we have vanilla pipe tobacco and the ever hidden gem: cheese puff…now it does come in white Vermont aged cheddar, but it’s no flavor for the novice.

You stare up in the sky like some slack jawed idiot, yes we all do, and I ponder: What the hell is up there anyways…it responds: Don’t you mean down there? It’s merely another form of control, English Teachers and their damn word forms. I’ve said it before and I’ll state it again, if the government can’t get you on taxes, they’ll get you on grammar. I ain’t no grammar spammer, but you want to know why your tax return was rejected or your grant redacted, the semi colon is Uncle Sam’s secret weapon!