Lonely Cloud

by Laurence Trundle Lawrence

December 8, 2003

I wandered lonely as a cloud,
it was Halloween and I had about
sixty pounds of cotton
glued to my leotards.
And nobody wanted to trick or treat
with a kid
who was dressed up like a that.
Needless to say, being seven sucked bad.
The stars shone down
like Christmas lights
all flashing in crazy sequences
that made me nauseous
and I got sick on the tree stand.
That was on Christmas,
but the stars made me sick like that too.
If there'd been a tree stand there
I can't say I wouldn't have sicked on it
but that would have been pretty weird to see
on Halloween
unless it was holding up a pumpkin tree or something.
So to recap, I was a lonely
seven-year-old cloud
and I almost barfed.
But then I saw
a shitload of flowers
like at least seven
possibly more.
And I thought of how
if I ate all those flowers
maybe I could fly.
Hey, I was seven.
But then this guy in a wife-beater
popped out his door and started yelling
about how he was going to punt my little ass
across the street
if I didn't stop eating all his flowers.
So I hauled ass fastly as a cloud
that doesn't want to get its ass kicked
by a bigger cloud
and ran all the way to my cloud house.
But even now,
when huger pangs
sometimes I think of having a flower burrito or something.
When the florist has his back turned
Quick!
Hey screw you, man
I never liked
your flower shop
anyway.

Milestones

1987: A practical joke backfires, resulting in Roland McShyster being put in charge of Orion Pictures.

Now Hiring

Neighbor. Must be unpredictably silly and capable of conjuring up outlandish schemes week after week. Applicant will be judged based on appeal to uncreative mass audiences and spin-off potential. Non-white, homosexual a plus.

Top Samuel Berger Excuses for Hiding Documents in Pants

1.	Was hoping only hot babes had clearance to read pages.
2.	In early stages of making a nest for baby starlings.
3.	Not everybody can afford a snazzy briefcase, Rockefeller.
4.	Trying to conceive children; needed to keep the boys warm.
5.	Classify this, motherfucker.

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