10/09/2013 - ASSORTMENT HAPPENS

                Assortment happens on this side of the district. It is usually followed by assignment and allocation and even a bit of Baked Alaska. And yet soulful eagles rarely leave this aspect of the land, they don't consider the merits of finding their mead elsewhere and attaching their fortunes accordingly for future business ventures. It drives the mind of even the simplified man to cut deep on practised politics and waitress  trespassing. At least the fiction is good, the fiction is reliable on this side of the tracks. It doesn't taste of much then you wouldn't expect it to with how much Austrian hair they put into the citizen broth.

                This street is filled with miniscule quadrupeds, brandishing knives in torrid stockings. See how they mistreat the poor buffoon with his $80 worth of stationary. Silly man, that's the wrong currency in these parts. The stairwell home would have been a tyranny for him but now he's got no chance of getting back into the white silk pocket of his house in only three or four partially broken pieces. He has fleas in his sleeve so they might help him ward off the thuggish scuttle creatures. Then again who would pay to see that? I know I wouldn't, says a lady in her own bargain bin. People don't listen to her because she dares to crossbreed exposition with social commentary. It's said she even has three celluloid posters which she bought one hazy flashback in Ireland. She carries herself like one who comes from thereabouts.

                The pirates are coming to repossess the colour television set of almost every couple within the district. It's a hate crime and no-one can understand what kind of rise the guy with only a cutlass and a few rope burns gets out of all this. It's practically perversion of the ancient comedy act of bailiff and desperate drunk. He doesn't play in either role, he prefers to be the bird that lands between the two sets of teeth. His chuckle can curdle transatlantic orders on arrival.

                Neil has awoken to blow the cretins away with his flickering knuckles. He's been waiting on the surgery now for magenta hours now and Mr Thank isn't going to cough up, not while he still has it so good. Neil can usually be seen getting the MRI machine to work but he jumps at opportunities like these to offload his depressive fury on something hook-handed. Watch him duck and dive and jab and jive and do everything in his powers to be anything but a 23rd Century drug dealer, splitting sticks and baggies on the street for a flimsy sum. His wife has dragged him out of it but goodness knows where she has gone now, a right and holy place we hope. She could even become a mayoral candidate if she ever saw the need but I doubt she will considering her innate need to lose her skin in Borneo. The property ladder has nothing to say about this, it's just a tragedy.