Colourful Crudeness
The summer is slipping into something red and sexy, with a scent to match the occasion.
About five hundred words writing per day is the pace required to complete my writing project before year’s end. Perhaps a new deadline is more reasonable?
The religious pandering of politicians in election mode – here and south of the border – is making me nauseas.
“Jesus saves” is false advertising; If prayer accomplished anything, folks would be hiring others to pray for them.
Wearing your heart on the sleeve is a pathetic state; Love thy enemies like you love thyself a pathetic mantra.
(“Hi Honey, this is Jim. Jim tries to run me over with his car every time he pulls out of the driveway, but I love him as much as I love you and myself.” Well, aren’t we all just fucking special?)
I had nothing to say, but wrote anyway. And now I’m done.
Oh, there’s always something to say. :) (Although, I do wonder why you tend to pick on poor old Jim so much…)
Pardon me whilst I go ponder what sexy smells like. ;)
Well, it’s a “scent to match the sexy occasion”, not necessarily a sexy smell. However, I welcome all new ways of thinking, leaving me with but a thanks for the comment. :) (Am I gushing yet? My editor has kipped very suddenly, leaving me to fend for the writing on my own.)