At one point, I turn out to be your 9 to 5 only at the J-O-B.
J-O-B. Another running gag.
And outside the J-O-B, I don’t always know who I am. I’m too busy concentrating on where I am and who I am and keeping up appearances. I never let you know which Prince Nehemiah you were talking to. The Universe likes speed and so do you. The Universe abhors a vaccuum and so do you. The past two months you’ve have been cutting, cutting, cutting. Filling the void with fresh ink. Putting the pen to paper, applying that to Note-Pad, then copying and pasting to Gregory Gregarious. You’ll give us your Readers Theater script.
I am at your service. Boo! It is time for the denouement of you. And this is how I want to remember Boo. As my ROCK ‘EM SOCK ‘EM COW-BOI. I want to remember you from the first day I saw you, Boo. Right now, you are resisting me, and you are strong. You and I have a different image of you. And I love this Fight-Dance. I’ve had you in my sights all along. We both have each other pegged and we both believe you are coming back to magically and miraculously, assist.
I’m wearing thigh-high denims. Blue.
Black boots and white tubes, too.
I am your perpetual “new” Supra-Hero in town. Your Desk-Top Icon. Your book-cover. We both look good enough to be hanging out in the LegFetish Universe. Me and you.
I worship and adore you. I’m totally dedicated to you, Boo.
Totally. And I adore you. You and your intelligent flirtations.