This here’s a machete, and I know how to use it, he says, but he says it mash-e-tay so it’s hard to take him serious.
But he’s swinging it around nonetheless so I shut up. One thing you could say about me is I know when to shut the hell up.
He’s yelling something about time and destiny like everything’s already been laid out. After he runs out of steam with that topic it's on to Keats, but he gets it wrong. He's saying, Booty is truth, truth booty, and for a minute I consider if his way doesn't make more sense. Then he turns his focus on jello, and finally decides it’s jello that’s the problem in the first place. He makes me swear never to eat it again and lets me go free.
When I’m walking down the front steps into the light for the first time in days is when I wonder if he meant jello pudding. 'Cause when it comes to jello pudding, all bets are off.