Psych sketch #18
Got hormones homing in like harmonica moans and sin. It’s doing my head in.
Stop it now, get a grip. I’m already being accused of Losing It, even as I (literally) write this. My fantasies and phantoms don’t need muchmore of a filip before I flip. Heads or tails? You call. Is it true that people shake their heads behind me? And not, I’m assured, because they’re admiring my mastery, nor in shock and awe at my audacity. No, apparently it’s more the cruelty that exudes out of me.