Andrew Lankford

Smile

Let go 

and feel the flow.

Have confidence in yourself, man (excuse me, talking to myself once again). 

Uncage the lions! 

Unleash the demons! 

Unpeel the crispy skins of robotic chickens!

Hell yeah.

(But be forewarned: Some say those skins taste like crap sushi. 

Not that I’ve tried them or anything, wink, wink). 

Anyone else hungry? 

Hallelujah.  Rejoice.  We still have a voice.   

Blast off Bastard Spectrum Lizard Bad Booger Bloom Blaster 498,

take us through the drop 

down those drawers and let’s party gate.       

(Yes, the last few lines are kind of lame, but you know,

in the grand scheme of things, who the fuck cares?).

Tickle, tickle, close your eyes,

grab my pickle for a huge surprise. 

If you find that it’s too big,

my tater-tots you will dig (last thing needed is another swig). 

Whoopie!

Having fun?  Hope so. 

Want to go for a honeybun? 

An icy plunge? 

A behind the scenes tour of old Tokyo? 

(My treat if you shake that ass like hambone meat). 

Oh, what a day. 

Tambourines.  Trumpets.  Cardinals.  Blue Jays. 

Neato pudding.  Neato pie. 

Neato lungs flapping by (lungs made of ninja lips and copper tongues).

Yeah.  

Follow the joy. 

Say what you need to say. 

Ram your face in the happy cake. 

Then lift your head and smile all the way.       

We got this.  Sweet dreams, drew.