This shall be the last
whisker-based installment in Davey H's chronicled rantings. Says he:
“If I get so much as a hint of that itchy, dirt-catching, food-slopping, detestable fuzz,
I chop it off post haste, good taste
and that is just because.”
No such thing as 'whisker-lickin' good', hood.
Humphrey Bogart got away with wearing a '5 o'clock shadow.
Now to other nonsense:
Okay, so I culled
3+ pages of silly-assed purple prose.
So what? Who reads?
Well, that's how it goes.
Now for more misdeeds
with words in neat rows
and it brings these screeds
to a memorable close!