Day 82: Tame That Hair!

Ok, so I went down the street to arrest some spray cans. They were not doing it right by staying in the store. But could you believe, I was invited and they still made me pay. Those lying cheeks. They probably didn't even recognise me, yeah! That must be it. Because as you know from yesterdays horrid traumatic drama of answering the front door to receive a package of unholy filth (a pair of jeans lol), my hair has been allowed to let loose and the taming has been removed so godly like for a some wild tan-ga-bilities (Tan-Ja-Bilities). I'm not sure what that means, but I get the picture. And as I walked like I was socially privy, gusts of enormous winds sent from hell itself, seeping through the earth and leaking through a filthy crack in the ground. I became a Medusa wannabe. Tentacles flying everywhere. My shadow freaked the troll that sits! I had to bare it. No I could not run and flee like my fingernails were so desperately screaming in my ear holes. Obviously I've survived the endeavor, but I have been scarred (Jane told me how to spell it right, not wrong). A walking frame did scrape me as I flew past and the pruned sultana did no flomping back flips; no they just kept rolling.

Squawking Bangles, Sift The Seeds.