Snub-nosed, rib-headed porcupine
feast! Let us all exclaim in full voice! Let us all wrap our tiny little heads
around the razor's edge and question the reflection we leave behind on the
hilt. Crossing over to the softer end makes the heart a bit too gleeful for
most people's liking but we'll just carry on regardless and leave them to stuff
it. We exist! We have curtailed far too long for the prince's sum! He will
lower his descent and drop billiard balls on our hunched shoulders, laughing
all the way to his own personal bank. How vile he can be! And his leaflets! Oh!
Centurion logic!
In the meantime we shall pine
after hoof prints and wonder where the best place is to buy hammocks that bend
only ever so slightly. My crudity may bring us down but it's spring time so we
shouldn't worry too much about it. We have our youth. We have a whole 48 hours!
A terrific time for interrogation!
Plosive love and frigid
determination and homely violation is what we can do in the here and now.
Aren't we marvellous in this light? The sheen hasn't quite worn off yet. I'm
daft but I'm saved from complete brevity by our communal handiness. Pyramids
and pyramids and prisms and derogatory statements involving isosceles tramadol.
The blowing hindquarters are whistling out of the storm and defying the
plink-plonk. Derbyshire is quivering at the stroke of a thirsty thigh. We are
the ones with the fat fingers! We are us, only kinder! We are knocking on the
foreheads of grafting children. All the ducks are swimming in the cess pool and
do not tread to carefully around them. We shall
publicise! Us and them! Two as one before the rotund sun! The wasps nest
led us here.
It concerned me now and again
but now is again and I suppose it shouldn't be quite right anymore. Hanging
nails from the counter top has been made illegal round these parts and I should
unleash the silverware The deathly
colours are watching and waiting just beyond my fallen eyelids. I am writhing
in the pain of the ground and I feel only the most absolute fragility. Boston
Samson told us he'd sooner rip the neck off over consensus than spit before the
football match. Maybe we should leave him behind and respect his absence like a
grim space cartoon.
The blossoming of the blooming
of the bangers and mash! WE SHALL BRANDISH THIS STATEMENT LIKE YOUR MOTHER'S
KITCHEN TOWEL! Goodness can be turned into a weapon, you just need to provide
the glue. We're talking chalices and chalices of super duper amazing awesome
magic glue, the sort of stuff that makes your grandmother dribble into her body
bag. The flesh can be scraped back and fed to a grounded Road Child provided
that you can find their best appendage. We're fast losing respect for you so
make your decision soon and don't try to tend the sheep unnecessarily. We'll
know.
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