15/09/2013 - SIPHON THREE FIVE TWO

Siphon Three Five Two Have a Nice Day Going Home. THIS IS JASON CHASE SPEAKING, VERY IMPORTANT. Well, suitably important so send out your love while my bedroom door is still ajar and my vest clings to my herbivore chest. I Am The Only Man Capable Of Boarding This Train Whilst Simultaneously Being Fucking Real About Stuff. I won’t lie; it could turn out badly for that guy with the red headband, he looks shifty and is constantly going to the toilet. YOU SHOULDN’T TRUST THE DUDE EITHER. HE’S A GIT. A GIT IN A PUBLIC RESTROOM, no doubt straddling his detonator.

It only took forty thrifty minutes to override this plane’s circuitry and turn it into the world’s most elaborate particle juicer. I don’t know about acceleration but it certainly gives off a nice buzz, like maybe an ounce. We Are Going To Do It; We Are Going To Go Out With Bare Arms And Hijacked Soul Music Blaring In Between The Gaps. SAY GOODBYE AND PLEASE PROCEED WITH THE GRATUITOUS BETTING. Don’t ask why but thanks for trying your luck, it’s nice to chat on planes. I PROMISE YOU, I’ll Tell Your Babies I Love You With Knives And Nothing Even Remotely Platonic. They are big for their age, THEY WILL UNDERSTAND. I once oversaw them playing award show music to shuffle off the ding dongs of an early hostile takeover. As far as matters go, we are a-go.

The pilot to your left is an inexperience lover, practically a Gored Virgin Who Can’t Do Much With His Womanly Wiles. They’ll pile on top of him and fill his eyes with buggy creatures but then anything is anyone’s guess, they might just go ahead and launch the bomb in the FOREIGNER’S DIRECTION. Poor folk are the most obvious targets but we shall have to see about the rest. Squelching is always a good sign though, particularly when suffering the final death throes of time.

I’m locked in my own pocket, preparing nuclear warehouses for glass shattering and the sound of angry monomyths kissing the language they were unintentionally begotten from. The age old question of going forward will inevitably be answered by chainsaw fallacies, a long series of them streamed together like a necklace and then used to strangle THE CLATTER KEY. Bringing Wives On Board Was a Way to Move It But Then I Don’t Think I’ll Ever Know Quite Enough To Prevent The Eventual Cause of Dying On An Empty Stomach And A Blank Verse Pulley. The controls have been tampered with into a laxative state and the dangerous shorts are being revamped as we speak and soak in our speech, impediment sand all. A misty unprecedented backwater yokel am I! That’s what they’ll say I said.

Have you ever dealt with me in an open-necked shirt? You Will Wear Down Your Wheat And Override The Protocol Constituent With Record Timing Before The Idea Gets Its Chance To Swim. JASON CHASE KNOWS HIS SHIT. I GOT IT STARTED.