The first gives permission to
the second gives permission to the third gains commission for the eighth and
no-one dances. Magic realism. Send it out, disappear with the entertainment
instead. What are the sales like? Anything like the sails? Billowing in the
undercarriage of a fatwa? It really is the cause of a blurt with its knees
knackered and knocked together into a knobbly corruption of its original form.
The desertion is a bit of a dodgy cause too but at least they have knives and
shallow graves prepared for it in case of horrific maladjustment. Lights go off
on the sallow man child while he is trying to ask about the finger foods and
where he could possibly make a furtive insurance policy out of opium and the
dealers who drink it. That is the question of a bicuspid, one in a flap over
heavy camera equipment being lost at the bottom of an endless sea.
This is the end of the episode
and by now you've come to expect the plunk of the pluck of the string on the
earring as we slice open the curtains, right between them and draw out the
sickness with salad tongs. This is a metrical calculation and deserves more
metrical calculation but this time in iambic tetrameter. Friday is a washout,
an essential eyeglass that spirits away the always from the entirety of the
nubbin. It hurts as you hurl or so the witchcraft piece has explained to your
father and his uncle's father. Interruption cuts through swathes of amazons
without even growing a fanciful beard. The ladies don't quite know what to do
with the absence of a moustache but the inch tape has come out to play. They're
fresh out of bunions thanks to the wonder cure cream and now they want to make
your day grim with a hint of gloomy glum again. Ride along the stripes of
history and you'll find an angry young man who cannot accept the fact that he
is losing the right to bodily castration via the causality principle. You mend
it and you go up a grade but only at midday.
The query comes through for all
sons and daughters of the Opus Orphan, the query has been drastically impacted
by the dramatic interpretation currently churning itself out on telly. The man
with the carefully cut tie has told you to be a good little golden goose and
make your eyes ache for a little while. The rickety one-off pop star keeps
sticking his tongue in and waggling it about in front of the shot in case that
would translate as absurdist comedy. It makes the matter into things and things
without matter are vertiginous. Everybody knows why you were at the bottom of
the grove, fan fiction has been written about it. It expands on your
penny-pinching ways with a heart warming rendition of a political figure past
to keep you company on the quiet route down to Alienation-on-Vague. The website
has the same sort of thing with full-on capital letters.
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