it's survival now boys... i'm getting the shakes and all i could do to settle the tremors...

was write a poem. 

i sit and i click and i click and i click

the mouse, the remote... the atari joystick

but nowhwere can i find what it is a seek...

just a glimpse of jorts boarding is all i want to peek.

or maybe a shumpty dunk on ye old ray allens head

would stir a new amusingly irritating P & T thread.

yet here we all sit, seeing mirages of orange and blue wherever we look

counting the days until the owners stop being crooks.

you see my friends, my longing for anything knicks is like rabies...

with frothing at the mouth and worried (nagging)  ladies

saying with love (i think) from behind the couch...

"what the fuck, a knicks summer league game? take me the fuck out!" 

c'mon boys... spit your rhymes...