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I’m a little over the edge today.

Some people go postal, or kick a tree or key a car or steal socks. I write nonsensical poetry. I should be working on things in general. Instead, I’ve been working on them in private.

Haha, that’s rank humor right there!

Yeah. That was a double pun.
Double the fun. Double the pun.
You’re in trouble if the double’s not done.
A pun gun. A stun gun. A fun gun for one.
Look up and time’s passed and your life has begun.
Talk to a guy who mansplains a man bun.
When it comes to rhymes this is the only one.
Period.
Not really. That claim, well you might be leery of it.
That wasn’t quite a rhyme, but I don’t want to hear of it.
Lose your mind or at least lose your fear of it.
Get a shock and drop your pop or your beer on it.
Lock the shop, cop a squat, and celebrate Guy Fawkes.
What does Guy Fawkes say? Does he color with chalks?
Can he actually chew gum when he walks?
Is he foxy? Is he wearing saucy socks?
Does he go swimming with Nessie in a messy loch?
Does he try to undress messily in paisley cloth?
Does cloth rhyme with loch? Did up I just foch?
Should I completely abandon my attempt to toch?

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