Snick That Window Tight Shut

By: Jim DeWitt

To subdue the cop cars' blat shrilling up my day. What is the best clue for to concentrate? Maybe stick a white pipecleaner poked plenty times into my brainjuice. As old whores tales say, it "jogs the jizz." Well shorenuff, soon I can feel the referred warmth progressing.

But just then a para-unusual phonetune breaks into the silence. It is Lou-Hannah Langhorn poised to make my pulse pound. Like quick comes the whistling of nail-straight grunts. Stippling the wires galore as I strain to concentrate.

But just then my front door collapses inward. It is my Stepmom Jasmine who has luckily for years been out of my thinking scope as would some sycophantic maitre d' with her raucous guffaw quivering chapped lips.

Nein, I refuse to meet her noxious stare. And to sudden-change the subject "Ja, you may borrow some eggs & some sugar & some..." However I can detect the ultra-tad jealousy of what she's heard gossipy tidbits of. And is panting to crash down onto my lap. Oh how desperate dilemma digs at me. Do I hang up the phone, or keep both yammering twits stringing along?

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