It’s Better Read, Actually
I relish this day. I remove the lid to the peanut butter jar, plunge a viciously sharp knife into its soft, moist crunch. Then, cautiously, I roll up my dish in one hand and spread the contents of the knife onto its threshold. RipltUp tastes delicious on a Sunday. It tastes like a mix of heavy bands, bad editing, black jeans and white shoes. The contents filter down to my stomach, which has divulged everything I’ve ever come into contact with, like parents, ants, aphids, Kevin List (I spat him, or is it her?, out)... but this... uh, choking... can’t breath... you’ve poisoned me... help...
can’t... gawf. Maybe it’s better smoked. I’ll never know.
I am the Walrus, Christchurch.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/RIU19950801.2.33.9
Bibliographic details
Rip It Up, Issue 216, 1 August 1995, Page 10
Word Count
123It’s Better Read, Actually Rip It Up, Issue 216, 1 August 1995, Page 10
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