Couldn’t find his way through a maze even if the rats helped him. Couldn’t hit sand if he fell off a camel. Couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if he were standing inside. Couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel. Couldn’t think/pee his way out of a paper bag. Couldn’t write dialog for a porno flick. CPU is always in powersave mode. CPU not connected to the bus. Cranial cavity filled with neutronic matter. (Really dense.) Cranio-rectally inverted. Cunning as a dodo bird. Cursor’s flashing but there’s no response. Dealing with him is less fun than going to the dentist. Dealing with him is one angst worse than a blind date. Deep as her dimples / reflection in a mirror. Defective hard drive / boot sector. Dense as a London fog. Diarrhea of the mouth constipation of the ideas. Differently clued. — Dave Clark Dock doesn’t quite reach the water. Does aerobics… in his head. Does everything the hard way, like making love standing up in a hammock. Doesn’t adjust for leap years. Doesn’t consider his drive a slice unless it lands two fairways over. Doesn’t have a round in every chamber. Doesn’t have all his cornflakes in one box. Doesn’t have all his dogs on one leash / cups in the cupboard / groceries in the same bag. Doesn’t have all the dots on his dice / pens in her plotter. Doesn’t have both oars in the water — can’t even find the damn boat. Doesn’t have elastic in both of his socks.
