Millions of people around the world stammer.
But no one stammers like me.
My style is unique.
But so is the King’s.
But we have a Queen… she don’t stammer.
But my fingers do… they told me last night.
They got upset because my toes don’t block.
So block the toes out.
I can’t. They’re stuck to my feet.
My feet used to be big… until I became taller.
But then I stopped growing… while everyone else continued shooting up.
But they don’t stammer, which is good.
But stammering smells.
Actually, it can’t because it doesn’t have a nose.
Noses are red.
Sirens are blue.
Turn on the heat.
I’ll be over in a few.
And we can stammer together.
It’s more fun in numbers than done alone.
I love Hotmail, it’s good to connect with numbers.
But only when those numbers are people.
Otherwise they become bumble bees.
Bees are in the garden.
What do expect, it’s Spring.
Summer, Autumn and Winter.
What’s the purpose of this post?
For it to become a letter, which you drop into red mailbox.
Mailboxes are becoming redundant.
2000 lost their jobs last year.
Royal Mail needs to answer.
Perhaps they’ll do it by post.
But they won’t reach everyone.
Because their Reach toothbrush isn’t big enough.
Now, I definitely don’t know what the purpose of this post is.
I think I’ll stop writing… or rather typing.
I love typewriters, they’re so old fashioned.
But my fashion is also old. I’m the one who buys the latest outfit 6 months too late.
At least if I stop this post now, I won’t be late.
Ok then… I’m off… laters…