Some turds float...you know?
The nit-wit and the nincompoop cordially bowed on the concert hall stoop. Greeting the doorman, quite gaily who nodded back, though more grayly. And nobody dared to complain or bemoan that fools were ruling the cobblestone streets, where urchins peddled faux-wares beneath the stoop, out in the square. And the nit-wit offered a hearty wave, but clearly knew not how to behave While the nincompoop seemed a tad more at ease, his pants were quite low and his crack in the breeze. And nobody wanted to ask or inquire whether they should pooh-pooh or if they should admire buffoons, so clueless, off-putting and addled for climbing the stairs in their outfits all raddled. Yet, there they stood with their tickets in hand eager to root for the symphonic band as though it were some highfalutin sport of which they knew nothing, but they would not abort the notion that they have a place 'bove the masses or anywhere other than out on their...well, you know. 10/27/16
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