My Friend

Winter makes many of us fat and sleepy. It's why Euros play futbol now, rather than in summer, when some of us get fat and sleepy and sweat more of it off than we do in winter, while others, like my friend, go traipsing. Winter is not for them like my friend, who tizzes when he can't traipse, bending his (perfectly pleasingly) lysergically cubisticized and educationally wallpapered head around the unbendable, chewing and effervescing and bloopblooping until the interior of his thought becomes Asimovian space where impenetrable Japanese English-language novels become comprehensible and terrifying. Or even, the process seen from a more droogy (and, plausibly, far more dissociated) perspective like mine, laughably meaningful. Breathe unconditionally, bitchez.