Write it. They’ll come. Leave Zeitgeist, miracles and other supernatural phenomena to Me … They did and you didn’t. Art doubted chachomanopapa but … ne’er Me.
Art ne’er doubted Me but the feasilbility of enterprises resting near completely on the salability of a manuscript no one had read … and no one cared to read.
To what avail what’s written well if what’s so written ne’er sees … day’s light … Arthur … following a heavenly protocol, of his wings … was stripped … by stripper.
Such an unprecedented event, for Arthur, was fateful. More on that later. More importantly, even before his wings were shorn, his tweets & blogs had rippled … outwardly.
Eventually, when the Zeitgeist was just right, Me tweeted Ben, Bo, Twit & Kim … Frankly, Me tweeted them: Go down the tubes now … (really) … or later (surreally)?
That got their attention. All agreed; win-wins for all; cool panacea. Yet, all that shook on it … now have feet cold … as a witch’s tit.
All but Kim. Let’s face it. Twit’s a twit. He’s out of it. Ben’s old. Bo’s not so old but he ain’t bold. And what is Kim? KIM IS NOT OLD … KIM IS BOLD … KIM IS GOLD.