Ed Chapin
2013-05-12 18:36:47 UTC
Brandi Patch is a goddess.
Her Most Magnificent, Udderly Exalted Heavenly Holstein, to be more
precise.
Brandi's hypnotic spots and swirls sashay sweetly in and about every
conceivable prismatic side trip, in any conceivable goofy heart, in any
conceivable world. That's a lot of side trips, in a lot of goofy places.
Did you ever notice that things are sometimes oddly, mysteriously, and
cleverly connected? That's Brandi and her magic coat--glooping through
wherever, whatever, and however--sloozing out precise and appropriate
measures of connection and distinction. A dribble here. A dabble
there. Across hearts and across galaxies.
She gloops.
And she sloozes.
Sometimes, life is driven by religion, politics, lust, greed, and all
that sort of thing. Other times, we are simply adrift in the
meandering, elusive ripples of a spotted galactic cow ambling aimlessly
through fields of celestial clover. It's a bit of a trip, really.
Brandi Patch is a grand old cow.
Of course, that's not her real name. It's just that her real goddess
name, Sabraihndeipha Chaznuski, coupled with all the high falutin'
honorifics, is such an intergalactic mouthful that a lot of folks get it
all twisted up.
Her Most Magnificent, Udderly Exalted Heavenly Holstein & Quocacious
Queen of Quillquiffery, Sabraihndeipha Chaznuski?
or
Brandi Patch?
You do the math.
You can't find Brandi Patch on a map. Brandi finds you. She is the
splatter of moonlight atop a gently breaking wave, the glorious epiphany
woven from the trailing threads of passing chatter on a city sidewalk,
and the dancing cow on the sign outside the local dairy.
She gloops.
And she sloozes.
Brandi can scratch her ass on a cherry tree in a celestial orchard
oodles of light years away, and moments later, a waltzing waiter in a
fancy tux at some posh joint in Manhattan is trolling her schnoz with an
elaborate jeweled dish of the finest cherry cheesecake in all of creation.
Raspberries, too. No problem.
Brandi Patch.
Connection. And Distinction.
Ed
Her Most Magnificent, Udderly Exalted Heavenly Holstein, to be more
precise.
Brandi's hypnotic spots and swirls sashay sweetly in and about every
conceivable prismatic side trip, in any conceivable goofy heart, in any
conceivable world. That's a lot of side trips, in a lot of goofy places.
Did you ever notice that things are sometimes oddly, mysteriously, and
cleverly connected? That's Brandi and her magic coat--glooping through
wherever, whatever, and however--sloozing out precise and appropriate
measures of connection and distinction. A dribble here. A dabble
there. Across hearts and across galaxies.
She gloops.
And she sloozes.
Sometimes, life is driven by religion, politics, lust, greed, and all
that sort of thing. Other times, we are simply adrift in the
meandering, elusive ripples of a spotted galactic cow ambling aimlessly
through fields of celestial clover. It's a bit of a trip, really.
Brandi Patch is a grand old cow.
Of course, that's not her real name. It's just that her real goddess
name, Sabraihndeipha Chaznuski, coupled with all the high falutin'
honorifics, is such an intergalactic mouthful that a lot of folks get it
all twisted up.
Her Most Magnificent, Udderly Exalted Heavenly Holstein & Quocacious
Queen of Quillquiffery, Sabraihndeipha Chaznuski?
or
Brandi Patch?
You do the math.
You can't find Brandi Patch on a map. Brandi finds you. She is the
splatter of moonlight atop a gently breaking wave, the glorious epiphany
woven from the trailing threads of passing chatter on a city sidewalk,
and the dancing cow on the sign outside the local dairy.
She gloops.
And she sloozes.
Brandi can scratch her ass on a cherry tree in a celestial orchard
oodles of light years away, and moments later, a waltzing waiter in a
fancy tux at some posh joint in Manhattan is trolling her schnoz with an
elaborate jeweled dish of the finest cherry cheesecake in all of creation.
Raspberries, too. No problem.
Brandi Patch.
Connection. And Distinction.
Ed