"i challenge the opus"... and his eye-grinning cheek
"please return to your seat, sir"
i could tell nobody wanted to bother with a protest from this campaign. the bodies of lords and commons governed only with fear and angst and murderous tendencies. we bit our tongues - they spat through teeth.
"tyranny is tyranny!" i screamed. "if we cannot swallow our wills, let it wither away. be it only to seek justice from invalid tax from the seven years war. a war in which we had no involvement."
many pretended to agree. so i sat.
"please, sir. dont dirty your mittens. blood stains take longer to wash out anyhow, ya hear?
he drooled when he spoke. his upper lip hung limp like a novacaine patient and he could not maintain a proper position for his jaw. fanged teeth and all. on them, i could see flesh. with breed love overtones. his mind was capable of immense wealth with a vocabulary filled with royal red carpet jargon.
"i, too, is challenging the oppus."
"dont look at me like that. its rude and pathetic to think the thoughts that you think. amen amen. lend me your pencil."
not many people have successfully been through a tommy johns surgery and came back. i admire this stranger for his effort in trying - trying, to avoid the ails of human cannibalism
- cleetus herman
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