The Buzzard

Within the common (all purpose room) at highland manor apartments aye daily encounter, one bewitchingly dreaded fiendishly horrible, jeeringly loopy, nap noopy, pugnaciously ravenous, talon viciously wizened, xenophobic yeti, zapping zeroing zillion zippers, zoned Zuckerman alley bye barred doors fate helplessly jury-rigged sealed with with plaintive cry no escape known to this man caught in a deadly voodoo clutch, thus doomed to die ugly cannibalistic, frightful, heathen rumors myopic eyes espy alarmed at feeling trapped akin to a wingless fly tapping reserves of scape goat coping techniques ingenuity, which earned me moniker "fall guy" where accursed cruel destined exit from getting husked, issued jagged lance like mandibles "hi there unknown weekly reader", I pray for super leftist write hand man/woman to extricate (via whipping up literary poetic fabrication), then joining me to sing jai (let victory prevail against killer odds) perhaps summoning division of British shiver rights phalanx, hood reply with Hackneyed "oh kai" springing surprise rescue, sans swooping inside this hermetically faux prison, where Matthew Scott Harris doth lie, yet realistic to accept my demise without putting up a good fight well nigh but... if luck finds thee plucking this bard (out maws of death) be treated to custom ye will be rewarded with pie ala mode enjoying a Quai yet moment...yeah...fading hope...sigh!