Finking about fings, but not actually doing those fings.
My grandparents are here. When my grandparents come, we play a lot of card games and my grandpa watches a lot of TV and my grandma cleans everything. I realize that I really don't identify with my grandparents at all, which is understandable but a little sad.
Here is a poem. It's not about me, because I don't like it when anyone calls me on the telephone.
I like it when you call me on the telephone;
I'll make all these colors in your voice my own, and
my heart is only small, like a berry not quite ripe,
but we could share it if you'd like
Q: Are plantar warts cool?
A: No.
2 comments:
I hate talking on the phone but I like that poem. You should play the Japanese sticky-ball LSD game with your grandpa.
Okay, no Chico, but Humboldt is a must. Or we could just go to Amsterdam.
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