The escape wasn't there when I
left it. Boring things seem to sizzle when I leave behind hefty trinkets that
you can only discern the outlines of. I can cut along the edges with a pair of
the dog's scissors and be accurate at least 58% of the time. This is a record
for me, my record so hands off. Don't act all coy, I know where you've been
sticking your grubby little thumbs. The children won't be impressed when I expose
them for the fraudulent bits they are. It's a good day to persecute, I'm sure
you'll agree.
So you don't agree. Righty ho
then. I'll just stick the letters and draw a foregone conclusion for the rest
of us instead. How does that sound? Perfectly poisonous - good. Your mother
would approve of venom, she invented it after all. Well, it couldn't have been
your father because he was dead and being dreadful at it. Your brothers don't
seem to be holding up that well either, must be a family trait. I suppose we
Pixies must stick together, even though the heavens are after our ears. Our
ears contain the hours that are. Press them up against an object, any object;
the sunlight is actually rather murky. I'll pass on the hors d'oeuvres thanks,
maybe destroy them later instead. The signature is climbing up the wallpaper and
won't come down until you syndicate this deal.
Armenian bliss is the truth of all dichotomy.
We have snakes in our foreskin and they have teeth like stubble. Buzz cut and
bewitchment - I don't know which is worse. Perhaps our faculties will regain
and tell the answers for us. Forking out the splashes is a healthy way to
mangle the planet. Our laundrettes will be impressed with the results and when I
say 'our' I mean 'not yours anymore, bitch'. I'm not being petty. I'm not being
pretty or pertaining to anything other than your betrayal of the guild. Our mug
handle supply is low and your morale has been tearing us apart slowly. We won't
give it back till the vasectomy is over.
Beluga caviar and Trojan bronze
knobs are the goods we deal in these days, since you've been running around
doing goodness knows what to God and his glowing fingertips. I'm ready to miss
you again so please feel free to frolic out of your usual pet window. It hasn't
been fed in quite a while, just raindrops and flecks of bird shit. We've been busy
making badges for the cart and nibbles for the horse. We're going on equal
terms now so none of your preferential shit ta very muchly. The art of
confidence takes a lot more than schisms and rotary blades to make it tick
over. My bathtub is the central hub of intelligence now so I'll return the
sacred tap to you before you see about ending it. The produce section is a
condiment's destitution and there's nothing that can be done, like Beckett
said. He's been laid off, no more nepotism. Not my choice.
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