Two paragraphs

Walked down the street yesterday, thought the situation ripe for sentence fragments. Huge blankets of snow were tucking the city in; I can't imagine a single violent crime of passion being comitted during the quiet spell of a snowstorm (dreaming, I know). It was a blender of flakes flying around the halo of a streetlight. I threw snowballs at the buildings across the street, failing to hit any. Any higher and the street will get swallowed and all our efforts will end, but the ice will preserve them for the benefit of future generations of archeologists looking for a dissertation. Right now nature is slapping me in the eyeball; I am cold but I pay no attention to it, evidently not an evolutionarily stable strategy. Madmen and muscle-bound neanderthals bash me in the skull and I want to go to sleep but cannot because I'm dead and rising up into the sky. Santa smiles from out of the abyss in my skull at the strangers crowding at me; they do double-takes. It's all tobbogans down twisting paths and frozen on the lake. The moon is a hexagon on the droplets on my glasses.

I wake up. I'm not dead, I'm on a bus which is stalled on a street like a skating rink. Drunk I scrawl something to myself to read in the morning: "keep the apocalyptic instinct alive". Manage to stick a blog entry together from wine and pretentious and dark and alone. Manage to alienate reader in under 500 words.

Consider: "Two rams butting horns with too much testosterone in them / Two homeys beefin' with some X in 'em."