Today is promising. Bed lady is playing "90's Alternative" music on Pandora. Her cat is named Pandora. The fat cat.
I am listening to Weezer. I am trying to spin myself under the bed. It may not be Yanni, but it is a break from monotony.
Oh geez! The fat cat just came in here. What does that thing eat? I know it wasn't the chihuahuas, as they are seemingly alive. I mean, can I truly state they are not zombie chihuahuas? I don't ever wish to mislead.
Smashing Pumpkins now. Oh, if I had been rotting (I'm melodramatic, I'm just dried up) cake in the 90s! He sounds like a love angel, this Billy Corgan. I wish he ate me.
His beautiful sounds make me want to be angsty rotten cake.
I used to be moist cake from dominos,
Now I'm just dried up and forgotten.
What is a round cake piece supposed to do?
I want to smile,
But I have no face.
In the world of desert I'm a disgrace
Uneaten and dried up
Not even crunched by an errant pup.
But as I say, I'm a professional writer!
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