FOOD FROM OUTER SPACE
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Stomach-bound food found its lineage from wash bins the size of flying saucers. It isn't just salad, it is kaboom, kapchaw, whoopack! SALAD. It isn't just spaghetti, it is blag, globo, kapchang!! SPAGHETTI.

There is something wrong with the surroundings. I have seen, in the litany of the Virgin Mary, the following off-kilter visages:

1. Long snout of a roasted pig.

2. Somewhat dehydrated male with only two-front teeth stuck in his gums; he looks like Bugs Bunny.

3. A dwarfish kid taking an issue on oranges. Funny spiel.

4. Hairy navels where uncut pub*** hair peeks out like horse's tail.

5. Electrocuted mane.

6. It is the 40's, the hair, the stick-up pomades; the infirm. Desolate looks.

7. Daughter should do a make-over to this place. Smiley!

I feel guilty having glowing skin (barring sunburn) and manicured feet when humanity is deboned in its state of unhappiness. I feel guilty atop my loft, viewing this seaside decay. I am a demon for keeping this grin on my face. But, the old people are really regal and graceful and sturdy.

Grin. Hey, Amphibian Roblado, kid walked on your turtleneck. Winter is stolen from down under hahahahaha. Join me in my quest for galaxy-based power.

Go to the National Museum, you forest. Look for the painting: "Revenge of Alejandro Locsin." It downs the Louvre.