The things that start with Crimson - like crimson warrior, walk the crimson path, her crimson bustiere always make me cry. Maybe it's the crimson flutter in my soul windjammer. The joy is always hiding somewhere in a house filled with sadness. I thought it might be in the creamy salute to the sun. Or maybe it's on some funny face yet to be seen today. I'm finding it no matter what. Made a new friend today with a floater that looks like an epidermal leaflet maybe announcing, if I read the micro fine print that from now on the finish in the cab/shiraz is a tongue topper laden with jokes about nickels. Not the round tuit kind but maybe some like the buffalo boner ones. I'm having me a big laugh today or my name's not Izzy - hey, Rustle in the Bushes by Izzy Inner. or If my nose were full of nickels I'd blow it all on you. Looks like the hugh laugh is due in later in the day. Been up now for 12 hours and the funny is in the margin notes. Why does a nude Sigourney Weaver link define the cumulative humor from guys who were really funny? I listen to reality from the inside perspective and the quiet is deafening. I like the night light baby - cut like a deuce and a runner in the night (confession: always thought it was douche). Mom used to douche with an enema bag and tea - like the vagina sipped Lipton and appreciated it more than warm water?