Racist Cheese.

Predictions (a poem)

In a future imagined by the late 1990's
Criminals in neon sock hats and rollerblades
terrorise a world that still uses mini-discs
I sit swatting insects by observing their behavior and predicting
their futures
Crashing the palm of a hand that hasn't really been clean for the last
3 months against the table and ending their existence
In the future on tv the roller boys are all wearing vertual reality
headsets
If I got my predictions that wrong this place would be crawling.

Sent from my iPod

lookilike

Dear sir,

This one has been overlooked for far too long now.

I hope you have the decency to put things right