Code Name Watermelon Grow-op
On the day of my birth, in the final hours as my mother strung the last few threads through, I was taught a valuable lesson, one so profound that until this day I would never quite believe. She told me, as her hand worked feverishly to finish the quiltie warm epidermis of my exoskeleton (it’s okay to use paradox descriptive nouns when I'm personifying myself, it sure is great being a toque), "At every pot of gold there is a rainbow". On this very day there was not one but three. Now I don't mean, if I was tripping off my rocker I'd be cracking out in religious ecstasy 'triple rainbow'. Today the rainbow but appeared thrice. That is two more times than the baby Jesus, and many times less than molested altar boys.
So what is the point of this story other than the boy had a great fucking day photographing and exploring on bicycle until his ass throbbed like another worked porn star. It means that with this great revelation of spirit I extrapolated new moral hygiene. Some may call it elitist narcissism, but they preach fluoride in tooth paste, drugs and vaccines. For I, Teacozy, it was the best damn bar of soap, a day which forth ward to infinity I hold neutrality to pessimism. Any who speak it will give excuse to ignore, as they speak only of failure. To those who say, can't I say one final word, 'must'.
"Is that a teacozy on his head?"
Teacozy out!
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