Delicious Human Filth

Zounds. I'm in a blog. A fog of blog (that rhymes you know).
What else rhymes with blog? A frog. Let's make him do something. Zog the Frog was in a bog. Upon a log. Back from a jog.
If Zog was a bird or something, he wouldn't have to be in the godforsaken bog. But he isn't. So he's all fucked up. And depressed. Perhaps cold and alone. Kickin' himself in the nuts.
But if Zog the frog could leave the bog, most lik-e-ly, find death would he, but there he is (perched mightily) upon his log of sanctity.
And Zog suddenly realized that his life was pretty fuckin' sweet down in the bog.

posted by Simon @ 12:03 p.m.