I don’t exactly know what “surgical mesh” is but it sounds like what my nightmares are made of. Beware what may become ensnared in that hellish dream catcher, well-meaning wishers. It’s enough to the shrink even the most manly stature.
Watch my own pride melt before my shaky wide eyes, watering with quaking terror upon hearing those two words together:
surgical (ahem) mesh,
surgical (no) mesh,
nope it’s still scary, none of that terrifying imagery was diminished by mere repetition—
one more? no?…okay…s u r g i c a l m e s h (sigh)
uh uh, inoculation incomp—
hush now, deary, you’ll cause yourself a goldarn heart attack at that rate, just relax, relate the facts as you know them, find you brains and your balls and then man up and show them—
no, NO! not literally, you dolt, that’s just all-around gross and besides, you know the Pope frowns upon all open-skull displays—though of course no one’s opposed to a little sleight of mind followed by some punnery—(ahem!) okay—get yeast to a bunnery!—heh heh—
no, NO! that’s not that clever, let alone cunning, in fact, it’s stunning how simplistic your too-basic rhythms are. You cycle time and again (and again for good measure) through the same easy rhymes. You suck out what little bit of pleasure exists from the few words clinging to the pit of your intellect like rotten pulp.
In the end, I’ve got to say that all of this token mess is beyond broken, and well, the only option may be to call a doctor in—no, wait, a surgeon will know the best methods of straining out the extraneous ideas and cleaving together the good ones that never seem to want to stick.
But look away, my love, because you don’t want to see the solution he brings, or even hear it. It would seriously haunt your dreams…
Well, they been so long on lonely street, they ain’t ever gonna look back….