If I was rich, I'd be stalked by the hungry suits, craving my signature. I would ride the taxi—no—a limo to a fortress of glass and the worm of hunger would slide through my telephone receiver; my monitor.
If I had a bunker with a million barrels of oil and a hydroponic farm glazed in a ten horsepower halo of lights, I could grow my food and finally, be alone. It would be a coffin; a place free of aspiration. A pyramid where I would bury myself and wait for the afterlife. The bombs would detonate. I'd hear it on the radio. My friends would be on the radio. When they bored me enough, I would switch it off and inject myself with my homegrown fruit of the poppy.
If I could contain every metabolic process inside my bulk, I'd never piss again. Never move again. I would be a statue of boredom. I could plant myself where pigeons congregate and I could be their septic scepter: a statue of shit.
Combat Expiration: 12am PST, 7/4/2011
Critique Expiration: 12am PST, 7/6/2011
Bonuses/Penalties: +2 if posted by 8pm PST 7/1/2011; +1 if posted by 1am PST, 7/2/2011; -1 if posted by 6am 7/4/2011; -2 if posted by 12pm 7/4/2011
The Rules: http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/official-rules-for-combatwords-updated.html
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