It was always like therapy, wasn't it?
The wine and the breeze and the do's and don't's.
Papa K, Papa K! Burning bright,
in the forests of the night. . . .
But I've been ignoring the
alcohol non-proliferation treaty
crunch goes the smokey dog as he sleeps
on an invisible bone god love him I wonder
This is not poetry. But here's
what I found out today: John wrote
the letter, Franco made Yale and Becca's
name is Sue.
This line exists so that I may rhyme "music"
with our fave Director of Grad Studies, John Kucich