Bumguzzlers beware. This is a goof. This is private goofage. Not for the faint-hearted, heinous, or inwardly-crippled. Little story I wanna tell, about a fella named K—– K—. Strange man come searchin’ in the midnight he dances out on the street, three stowaways and a couple of hobbits. He was a pimp, I guess. Two fine fillies in his care of which the one later ran off with a cripple(outward.) He appeared in the papers today y’see you see alright. Stole a bunch of Cannabis gummy bears, a claim to save the pain of a severe beating, punishment style. Not a bone left in his hand fit for fiddlin’.  Alls I know is the time I spent with him he was a true gentleman. Had him back at my gaff, I was in his. He played trumpet pretty good for a first-timer. Kicked football like a nonchalant could’ve-been pro, a street-baller, stolen doorstep morning cold milk for the drinking. He was teaching us, myself and my co-hobbiter. Teaching us little street tricks and how to get our kicks in simple nice easy ways. Sold us steaks at a discount, offered us all sorts of 2^nd hand goods. I met him once again in a hospital, he’d punched a would-be mugger in the mouth, taking a tooth in his knuckle for the trouble. They gave him the wrong medicine by mistake and so the claim was on, he told me. Liked to jeg coke. Mad craic. But a nice fella. And one I hope to run into again soon. Like I said, he taught me things. I was going to write a song about him, but I’d need a bit more time to think about that. This is a good start. It doesn’t hurt to write you know. Just get it out. Yeah.