MY HEAD "ROCKS" WITH QUESTIONS

It is not true that rocks don't talk.  The rocks in my head have a lot to say, but mostly they ask questions:

"Do beavers ever get damned tired?"

"Was Oedipus Rex the first person to engage in sexual intercourse with his mother?"

  

"Is there a word for a person who engages in sexual intercourse with mothers?"

"How would cops cope if there were copious crooked cops?"

"What do cannibals pack for lunch?  Ladyfingers?  Esophagus sandwiches?  Bellybutton pudding?

"Would we feel less lonely if more people had rocks in their heads?"

"Can we stop asking questions now?"

I'M SO LONELY . . .

How lonely are you? 

I'm so lonely, I have a party every time the mailman comes. 
 
I'm so lonely, I keep my library books late so the librarians will call me.
  
I'm so lonely, I look forward to traffic jams so I can meet people.
 
I'm so lonely, I party with the cockroaches in my place.
 
I'm so lonely, I look for lineups to stand in just to be with people.
 
I'm so lonely, I take my bicycle out to fancy restaurants.  (Most times they won't let my bicycle in because it's not wearing a tie.)
 
I'm so lonely, I buy myself gifts pretending someone else bought them.
 
I'm so lonely, I keep my garbage for company.
 
I'm so lonely I pay my friends to visit me.
 
I'm so lonely, I lose THE END just to talk to the people at Lost and Found.