A long forgotten tale of redemption, forgiveness and mind-fuckery is all anyone hopes to discover when they stray from the well beaten track of mortgages and line rentals. Unfortunately/fortunately relatable tomes upon which one can hang a life are difficult to uncover, therefore I have decided to create my own. Prepare to hang the fuck on the face of flipin’ good stories…there’s also morality. Go Him.
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“Rat’s are beautiful thought Him. I thought Him was a giraffe but Him was a rat. He was a rat because he thought they were beautiful not because he scurried or anything, Him despised things that scurried. Rats scurry but Him couldn’t see it. I thought Him was a giraffe because like a Giraffe, Him didn’t speak much, Him ate leaves, Him walked, Him had ears and the girls said Him had a long tongue.
One girl said that Him said She was, ‘sweet as a rat’, She didn't like this much, so She pinned Him’s tongue to a wooden beam. Everybody didn’t understand why Him let She nail his tongue to a wooden beam, but Everybody didn't know Him; Him was a sucker for the babes and for rats and everything that represented them, and they represented everything Him held dear. Him was nothing if not a gentle man…this is how I knew that Him was neither a rat nor a Giraffe. Him was Him and that was all he could ever be.”
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I killed a rat once.
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