16/11/2013-17/11/2013 - THAT'S TOO MUCH SHOUTING FROM THE LADIES

that’s too much shouting from the ladies, the green light said; i oppose conference champions and declare them part of the diets of truly hard workers. as long as you do your best everyone will love you and pretend that the food on your table is worth a ghost of a chance provided that the spectacles come free and nobody calls me out on this pornographic sequence. take this away or your christian father and a few of his angrier forefathers will be brought up like spaghetti from the edge of oblivion. you know the right to do things with buddy as your body have been severely limited in this wrestling climate and probably won’t see much change outside of a casual show of vietnam mouth organs. seat yourself or i will be forced to recruit you along with a spoiling pot of foggy guests that were left behind stylised war. a good marine is a wanking marine and a wanking marine is filled with indignation at his superior interior designer. i swear to the mighty mole that going in just like that would be crazy and lazy and grassy with mouse administration. right here with the ice cream parlour, that’s where all the pretty girls seem to want to be. what is her name and is she from out of town? take this for a stack of potatoes or the meatheads will launch themselves at our women and they promise us they won’t be applied to any other cause without the greased wheel of meek scarlet. that’s neat as a charlatan that is, that is the zigzag in the girlish grocer apron. you were my first thrust in the fat fryer, my whole world encapsulated by truthful numbers fighting for turf in the hallway of a clipped and chipper mirror. you see a hold. you see a hand hold. you see a division for the colonel. that’s a long way to go fight with a crazed comedian on the rocks, watch him do the right thing as a tight communism severance. as white shirts seek out thunder, as good as those white shirts are they don’t think enough about lever groins. might you help me make the corrective decision? might you make a river out of a moronic gesture of goodwill? the rain would shatter hips and cast spurious remarks against ringlets and the women who insist their pledge was a crossing in its own right. you’ll be an aggressive major with yearning privileges and you’ll become lost in a resurgence of rifles and rifled underpants. this is a good time, this is the collection of minute-shaped hours that will bring about a ceasefire and then an accidental discharge which turns out to be a good thing for our boys on the khaki. breakfast makes things clearer, breakfast makes things clerical and gives actors with cajones the chance to forgive kind strangers that move with blunted faults. orange as the sun is the man with a rough time as a his modus operandi. like i once said to the captains, enemies pop up and glare.

 

THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED, THE DUNCE RETORTED, THAT’S WHAT WE DID TO KILL THE LONG EARS OF KENTUCKY-FRIED OUGHT. AND WE WERE GLAD TO DO IT BECAUSE SOME HELIPADS AREN’T WORTH A BLUSTER ON THE THIRTY DOWN. THIS MUST BE PURGATORY FOR THE COVERAGE, THIS MUST BE THE GRAND DELIBERATION OF DELINEATED BLACK ADVICE OR ELSE WHY WOULD WE HAVE SO WILLINGLY SPREAD OUT? BULLETS HIT LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF A SUNNY VOICE CLIP, SOMETHING THAT HITS THE BUZZED UP SENSE OF CLEMENCY RIGHT IN THE URINARY TRACT. THE BULLETS SHOULDN’T FEEL QUITE THIS WHEATY, SQUADS ARE IN TROUBLE AND GETTING DEEPER INTO THAT PARTICULAR SELECTION OF TROUBLE BY THE SMATTERINGS OF DAYLIGHT HOURS WE RECEIVE NOWADAYS. THE GUISE OF A SCARED INDIVIDUAL CAUSES THE YOUNG SPECTATOR TO WAX THE FLOOR WITH HIS OWN BARTERED BLOOD. YOU WERE NEVER THAT CUTE. YOU WERE NEVER THAT PERSONABLE. YOU WERE NEVER THAT SCHOLARLY. YOU WERE YOUR OWN KIDNEY, THE TARNISHED KIND THAT KISSES ITSELF WHEN ALL EYES ARE CAST ON THE KNOBBLY BITS OF VALEDICTORIAN MACHINES. BUT BREATHE, BREATHE VERY CAREFULLY AND THE PACKETS MIGHT STILL STAND A HEARTY WITCHCRAFT. YOU SEE, OLD LIGHT OLD CHUM, YOU DON’T NEED LIGHT LIKE YOU WOULD, SAY, A WHEELCHAIR. ALL THAT YOU NEED IS A MONTH IN METHODIST SECULSION. DON’T DO BRIGHT AND EARLY THINGS WITH CATHETERS THAT GET BIGGER AND MORE ELABORATE EVERY DAY. UP AND AT THEM. UP AND AT THOSE MANIC THEMES. THE SHIT STAMPEDES WITH BED PANS IN ITS BROWN-EYED CAR WASH. YOU’RE IMPACTED LIKE A HEAD UP THE FIST UP THE ASS. GO FUCK WITH EDDIE. WELL, THEY’RE HERE TO PROTEST THE WIRE-WALKING CURIOSITY OF FLAG BURNING BUT THREE PEOPLE COULD STILL MAKE SEVEN SO LONG AS THEY FEEL NICE ENOUGH ABOUT THAT. YOU’LL BE IN A WHIRPOOL FOR THE REST OF MY ACCEPTABLE WILLPOWER, SO GUNG-HO AND JOBLESS. THIS IS A RICH MAN WITH MONEY, THE PICTURE. YOU’RE PART OF THE SOLUTION SOUGHT AFTER BY THE PROSTITUTE COMMUNITY. NOW IS THE TIME TO BE QUIET LIKE A SCORPION SUVEYING A BEAUTIFUL SCENIC ROUTE FROM THE COMFORT OF HIS CRUTCHES. HAY MAKES TODAY. EASE LEARNS THE PARK. HEADBANDS. PUT THE CHEST IN THE POUCH AND HURT THOSE TOOTHY PEGS SOME MORE WITH THAT BRITTLE BUTT. IF YOU WILL DO THIS SORT OF THING GO ON, IF YOU WILL LEAVE THE RED HAIR ON THE BACKS OF PLASTIC CHAIRS IN HAPPY GRUNT SCHOOLS. ANOTHER MAN WILL MAKE THE JUMPER OUT OF HAPHAZARD KNITTING BUT HE WON’T EVER REDUCE THE SPOOL BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE A WRANGLE IN THE HAIRY DIRECTION. WASHINGTON AMPUTATES THE DRUGGED-UP SLUM SLIME WITH PINT-SIZED, PLUS-SIZED, PRINT-OUT TREATMENT. IT’S NOT WORKING, THIS IS A GREEN COAT SITUATION AND IT’S REALLY NOT WORKING WITHOUT THE PUMP. SO SORRY, MAN. SO VERY, VERY SORRY ABOUT ALL THE SUBSTITUTION. PAGE AFTER PAGE MAKES THE NUMBERS RAISE THE PRIZEWINNER BACK UP TO HIS CANARY TRUCK. THEY CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HIM. THEY CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HIM BECAUSE EVERYTHING WORKS LIKE A FIELD OF DOGS.