A Halo Called Fred


I totally look like, totally feel like, totally smell like, totally taste like butt. I totally am butt.
Butt is a state of mind, not the mind of the state of confusion that borders Kentucky. Without it we couldn't move bowels or buildings. The build up would blow up. We couldn't eat food. The feeling is mutual. Sanity borders in retrograde motion. The buildup is blinding. The backlash is baffling me to no end. Why do I feel like I'm not in the mood?
I totally want your, totally need your, totally smell your, totally taste your butt. I totally am butt.
Butt is a place in my heart, not the heart of the place in my body that borders my back. Without it, we couldn't make mountains from molehills. We wouldn't get spankings. We wouldn't feel pain. The pain is unusual. Pleasantries border in retrograde chaos. Punishment happens in Freudian splendor, so why do I feel like I'm going insane?
How can strive to be the best we can be when it seems the best we can be is butt?