13/11/2013 - TRAILING DOWN TO THE TAILGATE

            Trailing down to the tailgate, my body says so many choice words about your sleight of hand. It's irksome for the police but I always employ the plosive and that tends to even the blow and make them jolly old bobbies for a short trimester. The rattling still goes on over my well-honed head but could we start again please? I think the shopping went all wrong at the end there and now we're left with eggs and an endless supply of sanitary towels. I need them but you don't believe in them. How you could go your whole life not believing in nether regions, as you call them, causes my mammalian brain to charge through its own overture for a while.

            The numerical formula 0.000000005555558888333332222222222189164856439562395634854678484858586811909563 is collecting for charity next month and seems to want you to help it with a few clinks in the bucket. May God help you rest your soul down on the bed of Ethernet cables for a short snooze spell. We all know he's a Geordie but never admits it by speaking a word, for some reason he wants people to think he's from Wales or Yorkshire because all the really class voices come from thereabouts. It's symptomatic of idiomatic priesthood. Sultry says it all when she says oh, oh, ho. This is with regards to you and your cosmopolitan declarations of most Swahili telephone numbers. It really was quite fun after the wedding but not while the reception is in full swing, the groomsmen might notice and call off proceedings until investigation tries harder.

            This over there is a lackadaisical diaphragm. It won't protect you from projectile sperm but it will keep you warm at night with its campfire feel and probing corners. It fits you just the same as it did your grandmother. I used to wear such a diaphragm but my father decided to send me to the French Foreign Legion because that's what all the cartoon characters were telling him to do. They were most vehement apparently, even bringing out the brilliance of triangular conception. It really was a misnomer.

            The commentary of the video was only so-so, considering all the other wonderful things the lady nurse has said and done in the name of telltale science. She's probably quite a stallion in the sack but we'd dare not question the pretty little white hat on her head, there's nothing sexual about that. I'm sure she'd break my spine all the same, with her bedroom antics that is.

            I dunno. I'm the sort of guy who likes to snowboard and skateboard with both feet simultaneously, just to prove that my testicles really aren't worth a damn. They're not getting used, not always, I usually keep them at the top of my wardrobe provided they don't roll down like they seem to do whenever my older brother rushes into the room. He has big themes to share but will only share them with me as a conduit to some divine form.