(THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION) If you think, “does Philip mean his dong?”, you are wrong.

I do not refer to my Richard on here. I keep it classy. You do the same, people. Keep it classy, there are little ones present.

So, I have many bongs. I love my bongs. How does one man have multiple bongs? I’m a special kinda man, didn’t ya know that? I collect bongs, I am a bong collector. A bong enthusiast. A bong aficionado. I have a passion for my bongs. They are long bongs. Big, thick, massive base.

Don’t judge me. There’s nothing wrong with loving bongs. I feel like, all the bongs get along. They know it’s groovy. We all love, the same dang songs. So it happens to be the way it is. I’m not sure how else to tell you we’ve got a special thing that happens throughout the day. My bongs- they even follow me into dreamland. I’m like, “bongs? What are you doing here!”

We laugh, my bongs and I.

Sometimes, I think, what would it be like to have a flamingo living in the backyard ? It’s cool to consider options. Flamingos are radical creatures. They see with eyes that we can only imagine they would see… Sorry, folks. Got off on a tangent there. This is no time for tangents, got damn it.

Well, I have to go along with my bong. The one bong to rule them all. Oh yeah. That bong is strong in the bong-ish ways. Beware that bong for it knows many secrets. Who knows what it knows, ya know? I’m just saying. We need all fear that one bong.

(END OF FICTION)

Well, that was cool! Hope you all enjoyed that silly bit on nonsense. Sometimes, I’ll post stuff like this. Enjoy your day, night- and your weekend!

Best wishes,

Philip Webb