"That's not a good idea, Ben. For one, we don't have great data on the actual effects of enhanced Luck..."
“Then you go and apologize to him,” their father said. “And that’s that. No helping him,” he added, a finger in Patrick’s face. “That’s final.”
The man didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. No, he sold it. Because fans were around who could see him and know him.
Advice to a poet
Sometimes you will come up with dumb jokes
That are too oblong to confide
I dare you to try and write around it
Those limits will keep things simplified
The more hoops you jump, the more clever
Trap yourself onto a side
Copy and paste and reiterate
At least you can say that you tried
There is a dumb secret about language
It's mostly that it's just wide
People are easily impressed
As long as your writing shows pride
Loneliness and Insanity
And he said "I guess this is it"
And she said "Don't be a brat"
"REMEMBER ME WHEN YOU SHIT."
"TRUST ME, I'LL REMEMBER THAT."
SHE HEARD MUSIC FROM THE ORCHESTRA PIT
HIS FEET WERE AT THE DOORMAT
THE WHITES OF THEIR TEETH WERE MOONLIT
LIKE DETERGENT FROM THE LAUNDROMAT
HE WASN'T THE TYPE TO SHOW GRIT
WHEN THERE WAS A CHANCE OF COMBAT
BUT HER WORDS WERE PREPARED IN A KIT
PRIMED FOR THIS DEADLY CHAT
THERE'S ALWAYS SOMETHING TO HIT
WHEN THERE'S SOMEONE AT THE BAT
ONE OF THEM DEEMED THE HYPOCRITE
CONSUMED IN THE WINNING STRAT
HE HAD PLANNED TODAY'S OUTFIT
IN CASE HE NEEDED A HAT
SHE ANTICIPATED THAT HER BEST WIT
WOULD JUMP AHEAD AND JUST FALL FLAT
HE LIKES GIRLS WITH SMALL TITS
AND MYSTERIOUS, SPONTANEOUS TATS
SHE MAKES FART SOUNDS WITH HER ARMPIT
WHILE ALONE IN HER NATURAL HABITAT
C’est le vie
Fake Cannons on Compo Beach