SPARKY PUMA
I don't know why I'm a vagabond vagrant; moreover, never even went to a barber-shop and read any of Kilgore Trout's latest books--is that delinquent but delicious dude still self-publishing?
Miss the Irish girl in Arkansas, but I'm not supposed to have those thoughts, sisterly love, and my ex-husband got all the money because my claws would come out, and it wasn't even regulated by the full-effects of Luna's tide-pulling potency--I would just stare at the fish-tank, thinking: "Bubbles, gulps, yummy."
So, I packed my Gran Torino with the big block Cleveland; next, headed to Florida with my Westie White, and yes, I spell it Westie. I always named people on Soap Operas different names, unearthing the forbidden Fruit Loops, like: my ex-hubby and most folks have multiple identities, which isn't illegal, in most cases.
Nobody will hire me, and my retarded niece smokes dope and gets a job at Burger Kingalishish in like a day--go figure the system--I hope they don't want my feline parts--and what a mess that would make them, I kill bugs on contact, but can't walk away from a rerun of THUNDERCATS; specifically, the show is always playing in my mind. And thinking about Jesus too. Like He's my Uncle or something, watching me, making sure I'm polite and wash my hands--cats do like water ya know, depending on the spirit of the soul. Soul = spirit and body mind ya--know your Latin.
I'd make a great park ranger, and always loved Chuck Norris--not even his furry chest bothered me. My name is Sparky Puma. I keep having wacky adventures. And why the hell are there shell-fish parts in sardines? That kinda is the ruination of all the health benefits--me thinks.
