Speedy has thrown down the gauntlet and slapped me with his chain-mail glove. He thinks he can out-weird me. It is so on.

Ding ring, ring ding ding. Bama bama ding wrong. Oh dey, oh day. Oh, oh, my. Bama bama ring ding, ding ring.

The space flowers. Gotta get hip to their jive, man, or they’ll suck you up into a black hole in your own backyard. That’s the final frontier right there, man. Getting squashed like a bug getting smashed in your backyard if your backyard had a large hadron collider and the bug got smashed in it, along with an electron and the whole world came apart. That’s some serious mojo. You don’t want to mess with that.

So, you better groove with your hips and get hip to their groove, because the space flowers are coming to your backyard. The birds and the bees will deliver their seeds, baby. And your weed-eater can’t do nothing about it. These space flowers are tough like final cold core of a white dwarf star. You can’t whack that without getting whacked yourself. And that’ll hurt your ankles, and that’ll really mess with your groove. Then you won’t be hip to their groove and you’ll hear that giant sucking sound right before you get smashed into a tiny black hole.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you, man.

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 17th, 2009 at 10:34 pm and is filed under Off the Wall. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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