Ode to Vincent's Pate

Ode to Vincent's Pate

by Anonymous

It shines.

It makes one yearn to know if it is indeed a solar panel for a sex machine.

Is that what makes Lancaster belt out aria's from across Sarisa's desk and leave charr'd marks ceilings.

Is it why you frown with the mien of a Kenyan lion that stalks across the Sahara, loosing that antelope that was just a hair, pun intended, faster than you. The lack of a glossy mane to shake at the other Lions.

You are Lazzaro. You own it. Why have hair when you can have Lazzaro's pate, newly sprung from it's smoky depths.

REOWR!