I once fucked a pumpkin who I called Felix. The most embarassing part is that he did not call himself Felix. In fact, nobody called him Felix. Except me. Later that same year I fucked a dog named Felix. Well, that’s not exactly true. Yes, I did fuck the dog, but his name was Steve. The Felix part, I made that up. Later, I ate a pizza named Felix. This time the pizza really WAS named Felix. No…it wasn’t. (I’m so ashamed.) As I sit here typing this confession, I sit in a chair who calls himself Felix. It gets awkward because as it happens, the desk is also named Felix, and I often confuse the two, or rather, they confuse eachother. The only one not named Felix is me. Sometimes I pretend my name is Felix. I paint my lips red and tuck my balls under, that makes me feel like my name is Felix. I’m not sure why. Sometimes I fear death. I took out a life insurance policy, just in case. I don’t want my cat Felix to go hungry. The cat’s name really is Felix. The life insurance policy is a Form B Felix policy, from the Felix Insurance Agency on Felix Avenue, in Felixtown, Felixburg. I can’t remember the zip code, but I think it might be Felix, too. You see, Felix, Felix, Felix, Felix, oh dear, Felix. Um. this is truly humiliating.
absurdly creative.
loved the logic of FELIX
hmmm
but yet, this isn’t the rant house. right?
A ficvtional rant by a fictional character. I have no obsession with the name Felix. None that I’m aware of.
A fictional obsession - fun stuff…
Looks useless. 
After thinking about this for a while…I’ve decided I don’t like this poem/caption/peice/paragraph.
I think it sucks.
Finally. Thank you.
Felix means happiness, so roll that around in your mouth.