It's like choking politely down the remainder
of brisket after the dinner party's host has just
audibly slapped his wife in the kitchen for
embarassing him.  It's like that, but the dining
room is your identity - the unbearable wreckage
of face.  Pretending to be an asshole in high
school was funny but when you weren't looking
these last ten years, you've become a real asshole.
I've been pretending to be a poet for just as long.
Look what the platypus got for all her pretending -
electrocuting shit with her MIND - batting a
thousand with her eye lashes.  At least it's free.

Throwing a toaster down the stairs isn't a
symphony, but it's definitely got a memorable
beat.  I know a boy who calls himself Toaster -
what a beautiful tune he'd make in the descent.