I’ve heard so much about ‘Ol Norris, but what has he to really say? Has he ever really saved the day? His arms were wrenched away by master Lee, and how much of him do I really see? Apparently he hates the trailer parks, they say. Apparently, he’s loved such women, he has turned out Gay. A ginger beard, the man has reared, but silly does it look. Chuck Norris is a figment man compared to Captain Hook.
Mr. Hook, in turn, is cake to Peter Pan. Yet even he must back away from Alice, in her wonderland. And off the links do go, a chained up mess of culture creeps. And all of them now be deceased. Who speaks of Kublai Khan or Giappetto? Who speaks of a kiss so long or a bedtime ghetto?
I stand at the back of the library place. I hope to be dazzled with works of great grace. I find out too late that no life occupies what might I surmise to be bookshelves of such of a size–I find out the lies! The lies, they’ve been said! They’ve burst out my head! And now that I know that you won’t give a damn, I walk out the door before it does slam. I leave you in bed. I walk out that door. I don’t give a crap about Norris no more.