His name is Mike
He likes to write
So I tried
And then we fight
He has nice nails
His lips are pretty
But damn I wish
He’d forget my surgery…
Sorcery was her spell
Makeup her cue
Mascara is what got him
Yeah, it was you…
He likes to write
But man he can fight
So I gave him an actress
and Yeah they’re tight…
Man I miss Liz,
Her smile too…
WE used to play meisner
What’s a guy to do?
She wants to write a poem
A porn novel too
But curt says he must be invited
to this party too
They steal my poems
My logic too
But man he is cool
His smile too…
Is Curt gay she asks,
real coy and sly and silly
cause I heard he has
a little girl who wants to know…
I possessed her twice
Just so she would know I’m there
Now I must go
And see her hair
Curt, do you know what I tell all my friends?
There’s a new guy in town who says he can do this. Know what happened to the last?
Let me guess, he was killed in an occult
Yep. That’s why we worry. seen this too many times.
Guys, Mike can write. He’s not promising to take down authority or fight for social justice. He just wants his play produced. He has God on his side…
So why does Satan seem to take over him so much?
Well, if that was Mike I heard, he has no morals…
What can I say Kayla. Daddy loves you.
Curt’s a genius! That was a reference to a flash fiction short I wrote. So Kate, wanna star in a play of mine…
Well, that was forthright.
Let me ask you a question. If you could date a founding father, who would you be?
Mike, she’s British…
Sophia it is!
Why don’t we write the play first, ladies?
Uh uh uh. That’s for Abigail Williams and Emily Dickinson to do!
Uh Mike, the founding fathers wives said that ruin the point of the play if they wrote it. Ben is supposed to handle this one.
Look, we just sent a thunder bolt into Mike’s brain. He can really type tho. Wink…
I should stayed in school, shouldn’t of I?
Uh, I didn’t stay in school!
Ok, I’m starting to buy into this. But what does he have to say..
Oh, just shut up and say it.
Mike., let me handle this one. Courtney, you’re kind of a bitch. That’s why I wrote that last poem. But I made sure he won’t die for saying this. So I love you, but we need to get over each other. You don’t think there’s chicks in heaven I can date?
You’re still pissed about Corgan, aren’t you.
Fuck yeah I am.
Alright, if this is for real, then tell him I didn’t sell your albums. I kept them at my bedside for two years before I decided to write anything. I was devestated too. That’s the story I want to tell.
Still love you, honey.
Channelers, do your thing…
Uh, I don’t have to go thru torture for writing this, do I?
Nope, you just have to find something to do for the next few days. Will your God prevail.
God is dead…
To tortured writers, may Shakespeare smile again…