give me a sword
So my Wednesdays are going to be like butter.
Thursdays, like rotten underwear.
Tuesdays imagined like a melancholy lemonade.
Saturdays and Sundays will smell like cold milk.
Other days of the week that wear plaid shoes will race against time to catch up with those who were left behind.
Forgetting the days of the week sounds like a challenge I am up for.
I have not seen a dandelion in many weeks. Snow cover, on the other hand, I have seen plenty of.
Australia Day is next week. Who will be Australian of the Year?
I once knew someone who wrote limericks.
This post will likely end at a time that I decide I have little else to add to it.
Like now, for instance, this would be a good time to end the post.
If I have nothing else of consequence to add apart from writing about the idea of ending the post, I should probably end it.
So I will end it here and now.
There, the post is now ended.
Shall we call this sentence, or this group of sentences, the post-post?
Oh dear, did I just ask a question?
Oh no, did I just ask another question?
OMG!!!
3 comments:
I think Australian of the Year should go to someone who is outstanding in their volunteer work, not to someone who is outstanding in the paid workforce.
"give me a sword". You'd be better off with a pen.
We have no equivalent of that here in Canada. I am supposing by your reply that past winners have been employed people.
It's a tough call, some employed people can do some terrific good through their work.
Dude. Chill.
Or chili, whichever.
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