Damn all our littering soulless selves(nobody puts baby in the corner)

What fx? Ten foot game fences; ah, the cedars; red oaks in maple wannabe glory; rocks on tilt and shuffle slide. Deer blinds, with a corn feeder on a timer set for doom, twenty yards away; sporting! The North Atlantic is a knee buckling bride; with ghost ships for escorts in the oogah fog; the nightmare slam, that doesn't seem to end, and the spray rolls over all, tie it up or lose it, when the bow crashes crest again. Bob Hope's skislope need; Red Skelton's bugeyes; Sammy Davis' smile; The giant face of Milton Berle; four spot and double negative ago, vaudeville images of our maws and the need for more to chew. More. Chew. Break. More. So wrapped up in lives not our own, and those movies aren't based on a true story, and the ones that are, were changed for entertainment purposes; because only the box office is really real. But what of really real, any more?