So I dreamed that Buddah Moskowitz mailed me all this stuff.
It wouldn't nearly fit in the mailbox.
There was poems.
And crazy bullshit, little gadgets I couldn't even understand what they were for,
And his old watch. What am I supposed to do with that?
The face is as big as my whole hand!
I wonder if it works underwater?
I wonder if you can see what time it is inside a cave at midnight?
I wonder how he got my address?!
And oh yeah, there was these five big boxes full of old newspapers, and
(Should I even be telling you this?)
And like a zillion dollars in cash.
Man, can this girl use it.
Thanks, Mosk. I like your blog too!
So, I did what any sensible, well brought-up Catholic gal would do...
I bought a ginormous honking handgun,
A black 1960 Chrysler with an engine a girl can feel right through the bench seat,
And went on the run.
Eat my dust, assholes!
Guys with soul patches tried to swipe my stash,
But their bullets may as well have been made of pudding.
I was fierce! Rawr!!!
Gitcher motor runnin'...
This beat going to work any day.
I took it out west.
Lookit, Arizona is still there! I'll stop and see Dani.
We can eat at some dopey chain restaurant and order anything
Cos I've got a zillion dolla.
More quesadillas for you ladies?
Why, yes, we don't mind if we do.
Thank you, Buddah Moskowitz, for the zillion dollars,
And the creepy guy-watch,
And the poems, which were eggs-ellent.
I will think of you every time I floor the Chrysler.
I will pay your tab at Danny's Coffee Shop.
I will put the top down
And let the moon work on my head a little more,
Whether that's wise