marlborough galveston

...is a man of no more than average ability and intellect.

his life consists of an endless series of mundane saturdays, stacked one on top of the other, and has been this way ever since the last saturday.

he is a brown paper bag of a man. and he eats a lot of starches.

he's not particularly interesting. he doesn't read much, or have much to say. he doesn't care about politics. he doesn't drink. or smoke. he doesn't even ride a bike.


but man, he sure can dance. i mean, that man can cut a rug. with his feet. his soles bring fire to the darkest corners of my heart.

and i love him.


*this "piece" was inspired by a spam email i received from, no other than one "marlborough galveston." i will not proliferate the email here, but suffice it to say that the utter poetry of its prose was enough to generate this post.