Rory Thompson, NYGA\B

I write me. Oh gib.

This is my big shot at name-sharing. I mean. Someone named Greg Smith pushed me around. He had a hot sister. And he was a fullback. The light off his jacket made that green go yellow in a beautiful way. He told me to do something and I did it, but my nut advantage. I was funny to the people in the class. I sucked up a spit ball snot.

The NYGA/B. Well. I’ve got something to believe in.

If I had a say in what was known as. Saw some jumping. Stephen would say aught. Thank you dr. 8 for pinning me discipline. I smelled the difference when they topped me off. I felt their hair smash my face in swirls.

No family ever teased my ass. They have a brotherhood aught peeping. Thank you dr. 8 and thank you Stephen for the airwaves. The poem you asked for:

Back when I climbed far wall
bazaar is distracting haggle and pit pence against
judge made the anger bloom gall.
Stephen pip horn the tall falls
in paper, though it was red cross. None at all.
Cheer’s done. Just pall.