Pilfering the shucka shucka from the timbolt tangerines

Let us stack our dreams like round bales of hay, in a field of overgrown alfalfa that has been attacked by roaming pumpkin vines.  Let us formulate the impossible like an ice cream salesman with merely dreams of ice cream novelties dancing in his head as he stands mentally stark naked before a court of law for the crime of selling no ice cream without a permit.  Stupid am I? Yes, but so intelligent and socially unaware that I should be locked up in the super max.  When I think of Super Max I see a man with a cape and no limits, I see a man who thrives on TV dinners and wears only electrical tape, I see a man who eats only the whitest meat of the chicken nugget and discards the surreal breaded exterior, I see a man who watches children for money some may call it a babysitting others will call it a science while still others will call it an art or maybe a study in chaos, I see a man who loves macaroni so much he won’t put cheese on it just a little salt serving it 'al dente', I see a man who would rather tear off a shirt then put it in the laundry basket, I see a man who’s idea of a bubble bath is well salted water and a car battery, I see a man who thinks alkaline is a kind of Slovakian dog breed that is used for fighting off old women and herding chickens, I see a man who eats only carbs during the week and raw oceanic fish on the weekends, I see a man who reads only the bookends, I see a man who drinks 120+ proof whiskey with tabasco, I see a man who showers with volcanic rocks, I see a man who is so comfortable with himself he calls himself couch, I see a man who if he was named another name he wouldn’t be Super Max he’d be Ultra Min.