incoherent babble

When you have nothing to say, you have nothing to say. There ain’t no way to play, play, play at what you don’t have to say. So, if you don’t want to say something, just don’t say it. Don’t say it, just spray it. Spray it for the masses. Spray it for the massas. Massa, please don’t whup me for being a dolt, for being so low, for being so dumb I don’t know what to do. If I were you and you were you, then we’d have a fine to-do.

Wouldn’t you
agree?

Sometimes, folks, I have no idea what’s wrong with me. I am not a poet or a songwriter. I was not meant to rhyme. But, when I have little to talk about, that’s what I end up reverting to. I hope it doesn’t bug, confuse, or offend anyone. It’s just what I do.

I mean, sometimes I wander around the apartment making up songs like this. Mostly they have to do with how fat I am or how untalented I am as a writer. I’ve stopped singing those songs lately. As some of you know, I’m not so fat anymore. And I’ve finally come to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, I might know how to do this writing thing.

Anyway, that’s it for now.