By corvidae on Skatehive
My seagull is broken. It's been broken since three days before Christmas and when I say broken I mean dead and when I say seagull I mean soul. You have to read that explanation with literary whimsy and a poetic license. Without enough literary whimsy it literally translates to my soul is dead, which pretty much means that I am dead and my corpse is doing all the typing here. (This would be unfortunate because by the time this phenomenal post broke 100 hive rewards my body would be too badly decomposed to cash in.) As for the poetic license, you can obtain one after a 20-hour education program and passing the poeticians bar exam. What's that? Sure, go ahead. I'll be around. Just sitting here. Rotting... You're back! Judging by that shiny new poetic license you have in one hand and the joke we just beat to death in the other I'm guessing you're ready to understand what the fuck it is I'm going on about with the whole broken seagull thing. Well I hate to break your heart, but I have no fu