Health food stores and farmers selling horse crack

You Inklings are what the French would call..."cruel". Yes, I mean you, you punks. You're the ones who would chase me down streets screaming "WRITE WRITE WRITE!"! You're the ones who threw rocks and rotting vegetables at me while I clambered into my car!! YOU'RE THE ONES WHO HELD UP MY DOG FOR RANSOM!!! You're crazy, do you hear me??? CRAZY.
OK, so none of that happened. In fact...no one even noticed I was gone! I'm beginning to think--dare I say it--that you...you...don't care..? Is it true, Inklings? Tell me it isn't true. Because if it were, I may just have to shove my face full of tuna, and we all know what cruel, disgusting things tuna are. Do you really want me to resort to a punishment so low? So cruel?? If not, you had better start showing me some love, or gosh darn it, Chicken of the Sea will be my new facial cleansing product. *shudders* I can't believe you, guys. I just can't.

I have discovered a new obsession. Bars of soap. They're so...square. In the words of Princess Jasmine, bars of soap are..."A WHOLE NEW WORLD!!! A DAZZLING PLACE I NEVER KNEW!!!"...I mean..um...really awesome and geometrically sound. They smell good, they look good, and they clean like...like the shamwows of hygiene. But! Alas! I have found a flaw in ONE bar of soap my momma bought me--it smells like pot/tar/Bigfoot. You wanna know why? Because I bought it at a health food store. Which is the Wal-Mart for faded out hippie men and their crackpot lovers/wives...NOTE THAT I MADE WIVES PLURAL. Theres always that one cute and youthful old man and then eleven old ladies in there. You then walk through the whole store going "Is THIS the wife?" "Is THIS the lover?" "Why can't I get any good tasting food here?" So, I believe all health food store owners own the following things in their closet:

1. Dial-A-Wife's phonebook
2. Beaded vests
3. Power-suits
4. Magical white-hair fluffifier
5. Simon and Garfunkel
6. Bigfoot pee to make soap with

Poetry is a weird hobby of mine. Actually, I have several weird hobbies--like watching children on carousels... not even joking, I do it at the mall for fun. Maybe I should incorporate a camera in there to make my creeper status go sky-high? Better wait till I get facial hair and a lazy eye first... ANYWAYS. Poetry is a weird habit of mine when I can't really talk to people about anything. Not poetry like:

"I saw a bird up in a tree and he pooped on me so I said whee and stung him like a bee"

or poetry like

"Rain is on my body. I killed my father. The end" *snaps fingers with appreciation*

I hate poets like that. I'm a huge believer in free verse, but I hate when poets keep shooting big' abusive things in there.

"I was naked on a cold tile floor

And there sat my heart beating

Laughing at me

BY THE WAY I WAS SUICIDAL."

That is just plain WEIRD. Especially when its someone who has NO idea what they're talking about.

"I am a white boy.

I live in Iowa and I'm homeschooled.

I sell crack to horses.

Dance for me, Snoop Dog and snort up life with me."

I would show you mine, but I'm sure I suck in my own special widdle way.

Cheers.