Flaming Mouth

What up world/peoples? How are you this day? Cloudy with a little mist? Are you tired from all your hard work last night sleeping with your problems and not your soul mate? Come here, child. Let me wipe down those balloon sized tears, and we can stomp in the puddles they make. Do you have a pup? Is he ready for what we're about to get into? Dogs don't care, they just go on their whims. Maybe the dog should be the leader, that way if we get into trouble, the cops will just lean back and laugh all the day long. Just you, me, the dog, and a couple of cokes. In bottles, unscrewed by a happy brown-skinned man behind the counter with the mustache that never gets mowed.

Let's start by hopping roofs. There's a picnic on that one, let's drop over there. The dog's going crazy on the wienies, his head sunk over the lip of the grill. I hope the flaming mouth doesn't swallow him before he's done. Good thing these people don't mind sharing cups, they don't even blink at what Pup's been up to. Only Grandma rocks in the rocker, gnashing at the frolicking, one rock away from falling back off the roof, to hit hell running. But where would anybody be without her?

Grab a potato salad with one hand, and we're fresh out of here as it smears down your arm. Don't worry, you're hungry. You eat and I'll fly. I haven't felt like this in years! Let's set up a tent above where it rains from, and the dog can be the pillow. You won't fall down if you close the zippers tight. Ready, set, stop.