The Seattle Star

Green grass grows around the backyard shithouse and that is where the Sunday Comics bloom. We are flowers growin’ in God’s garden, and that is why he spreads the shit around.

Sunday, why you’re so complicated for me, twilight? Waiting on the planet to turn to me, dark side…If loving you’s a felony now, then I’m a renegade, riding, trying to read the Comics ain’t easy ’til you dive in swimming pools.