I’ve decided that the sun doesn’t exist.
I’ve written a couple of poems on the subject:
1:
Sun.
No fun.
Oh look another stupid horse.
Nope sun.
2:
Roses are red
Violets are shut up
There isn’t a sun
So shut up.
I’ve faxed my ombudsman with star charts wherein I’ve omitted the solar champ.
I don’t like summer.
Prove me wrong. Prove you right.
Can I touch it? No.
Can I taste it? No.
Can I see it? NOT WITHOUT GOING BLIND FROM THE SUN STARES.
So. Yeah.
No sun.
Suck it sun fans. Totes suck it.
The Trent Wilkie 