04/10/2013 - TO HELP THOSE WHO CAN HELP THEMSELVES

                To help those who can help themselves is to watch them help themselves to that which you would not use to help them with. Pants loosen, belts come apart. The nightingale has become a warden with the switch of a coat and the swish of momentary nudity. The vampires come forth to be reticent for a while, barring cold months. Pleasure prescribes the postscript and the lemurs seem to be okay with this despite years of their hard graft. The cross-eyed among you will open the drawers and let out the screams of space worms and various other apparel. Now comes the time to talk in talcum powder, drenched in talcum powder. It's a pow-wow. It's the scratch becoming a dent that turns most people off of the opportunity. The swimmers call it a commonplace hooker for misfortunate eyewear. Come back, you'll say, we're the ones who should leave.

            But how could you, cur? How could you become a better mongrel and leave your fellow pups to the trophy case fate? Such an eventuality is dry and worth running into the ground with powerful laser magic and go-go dancing juice. The galaxy comes to warp you a new one and here are the police to knock up a warning about it whilst you bitch and scream incessantly.

            Receipts are one of which, you say to no-one's grandmother. Receptions are like receipts only less final and more inclined to be poetical. Nonexistent grandmothers get things done in the time it takes to transfer the former into the latter. The gene pool doesn't allow for mistakes, not at this critical stage of takeover booking. Take the cup and you'll see how they come down with righteous customs and gay LPs. Grad school nationalists are just like electrified thespians, down for the count and fast becoming mulch only more useless. It's a tardy mark against their names and you're the one who gets the clipboard next.

            The rosebush is always slightly power mad. Everyone talks of it with such reverence and glory that it hears the words and starts to embed them between its red bits and that causes a volatile reaction which leads to a bucking sense of lady love. It'll say, mind your snout, I'm staying put and it'll actually expect you to respond to this apparent hectoring tone with delicate modernity. The alternative is perhaps resting in penniless gloves.

            You could pick up the telephone, pluck it from the stalks of standoffish roses and call the Better Judgement Services for an answer that equates to a bald man layering on a wig. The hiding of surly sentiment makes grand things happen during the spin of friction that occurs between flesh and faux hair. It'll establish a strong connection and maybe get you in good with the coat hanger crowd. They make quality product, the finest angular wires you'll ever see. With a gentle clip and a admissive push you can turn it into a fancy bow and arrow set. You'll live again.