Humming along...
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Humming along...
Humming along with the melodious buzz of my deafening, yet friendly weed-eater while cutting Legend's grass which will all grow back higher and stronger tomorrow while I'm denying offers from gay golfers to enjoy complimentary "cold ones" or "warm ones" at their curved establishment when I'm done playing "rat boy" with "Mr. Freeze" while I'm viewing in awe or in jest Cope's treasure hidden from the peeking eye of my boy Bones and the hurricane surfer; stabbed once, beaten thrice millionaire mama's boy from Tampa Bay who returns kindly gestures with "crazy wave boy Ben," who brushes a wall to prevent from following his SV into the lake much to the humor of Speedy Black jailbirds riddling something ebonics about spermicide or germicide and laughing at the beautiful still life "Break/Break Renick" carved to fine detail in the bunker or running from "big-small Norris' " big snake whose owner is tempted tenaciously to hurl a trap rake at anal, onry bike-riding crazy white devil Cool Breeze hired by big boss man Jimbo de Colorado who's watching "the Gurk" and "its-not-lunchtime-yet Paul" turn a masterpiece out of a trap which we've raked several thousand times for no sane reason at all yet continue to do so because our majestic creator redeemer magnificent Lord Christ commands us to "work with all our hearts as we're working for the Lord" (Col 3:23) until two turns on the watch and we return to the Dip from the best dang/well kept/beautiful piece of heaven; home to the grueling, sweating, weed-eatin' working breed of men collectively known now and for all history as:
THE BAYPOINT BOYZ
