Is there anything nicer than a big motherfucking crane?
OF COURSE NOT!
(“Not even a tractor?”)
(No, not even a tractor. I think you’ll find the CORRECT answer is that NOTHING, I SAID NOTHING, IS NICER THAN A BIG MOTHERFUCKING CRANE.)
If I could live in a crane, that would be like the most awesomest thing ever. I would have a hammock, and a hard hat, and a fluorescent vest, and a packed lunch, and a thermos full of hot coffee.
LIFE WOULD BE SO FUCKING SWEET.
But you know I’ve made some enquiries and “The Man” has totally put the hex on my whole crane-house fantasy, citing “miscellaneous bylaws and regulations” and “occupational health and safety concerns”.
“DOWN WITH THE MAN!”
Sometimes I find life too disappointing for words.
xoxo nora
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1 comment:
nothing would be nicer than the poem i've imagined writing about cranes making sweet lerve. ahhh.
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