I climb my cursed tree, lugging my giant comb. I need to comb out the interconnected branches and multicolored leaves. The tree is strangling itself with growth.Too much color in the wrong places.
It reminds me of the MRI of my brain.
I tell you this. When the aliens hover, as they have periodically-I've given them hand signals-we want them to view us as a peaceful form of life so they may provide us with the cure for cold sores.
So I continue to straighten this beast of nature and try to bring it in line with all the other trees. Luckily the bark is with the program and its roots are nothing less than embarrassed.
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