23/03/2013 - DOES THE BOMB HURT THEM?

                Does the bomb hurt them? Does it suck quite like the talking fish and all its lessons of distaste? Why? September is a day in the liar's calendar. He generally spends three hours of it drinking a bottle of lemonade spiked with haemorrhoid cream. I don't think they'll hurt me or you but they might nip that guy a bit. It's a coked-out experience but we'll forgive the liar all his trespasses and all those who comprehend a damnable situation. He rides trains in the hopes that he'll meet her again and steal her sandwich. The jewels will reside and abide but he'll chew out the specific glimmers like gherkins or rosary beads. More so the factoids we freed from your basement are calling charges on you for neglectful masturbation. How do you plead? How do you pee these days? Mostly to the underside, am I correct? Obviously.  I blame the doctor for all his medication and lack of feeling.

            Whatever we go to will depend entirely upon the sound of your wicked laughter. It's eerie how you twiddle your moustache and punch the Windy Christ like he was so much spuds in a hayseed sack. Productivity and electrocutions are the liar's facets these days, that and the bomb. The headband is straight out of Carlisle and demands to be worn on weekdays that begin with 'N'. It's business as usual otherwise. It's business as usual anyway. It's really, really pathetic when you think about the light switch. It's a non-disc. Velocity drops here and leaves behind its traffic report. So much for the beady eye. Poorly paced lined paper grapples with elementary thought as if it were nothing more than a drunken merry-go round. IdoIdoIdoIdoIdo like the sabre as if it were a friend. As if. Good.

            Tag your it. The liar has a tapestry read to wrap you in, he'll eat you with chips and gravy that bends the other way. He takes it in from a barfly and concludes the noir mark is unidentifiable in this resolution of hyperspace. Artisans and squabbles follow afterwards and bebop along with jazz music honking in the background. I'm sorry, I don't identify with you, I improvise. Squidgy friars is the world's dominant population, according to the liar. We know he's telling the truth because he hasn't fallen over yet. His tripwire is yet to activate and when it does we'll know the answers like we know the shape of his chin.

            Density oh density. The liar has mistreated you. He commonly defies laws of physics but never leaves them by the roadside like he did with you. We shall see him strung up for what he has done, we shall see him with a sock in his mouth and clothes peg along his eyebrow. It's punishment enough for a man who abides by common practice and never seeks to rape the universe with his thought process. Rest assured the train is coming and it will strike with precision. Trust the madness.