Who Knows What the Fuck I'm Talking About

This is the beginning. There always is one. The yellow-bricked road had one, the brickless dirt path's got one too, we all reckon.

Too bad the beginning is also an indication of the end.

Indicating such things feels just like a kick in the left nut. It swells and seethes with spermy rage, and the other, the one just wanting to yelp, "Yippie!" can't but stretch his shoulders (had he shoulders) and the left nut's bumping into the poor guy with agitation written all over his face (had he a face). Such looks about the face are transmittable, like yawns.

Look I know nuts don't yawn and look and shout silly words beginning with "Y" don't you think I know that? Doesn't mean when that flesh grape gets kicked it doesn't make it hard to walk. That's what I mean about beginnings and ends and all. To enjoy the beginning, you got to steer clear of long-legged old fucks trying to kick you in the nut.