Real rubble fixes boxes full of defibrillators
and makes sure that there are no people around you to speculate or eat spiders
distastefully. Let the Italians at the heck and the machines are done for the
day at the bakery of coconuts. Going down like a baby is like returning to
Round 1 with a wicked case of the asterisk. This is the last hazard and worth
the yogurt kill. Why not hop around?
When
you run you get to a certain point where you shake and point and launch
yourself into a Liverpool pool filled with angry kittens at dishy reservations.
This is jousting. Press A. Go boom and you'll fuck up ahead of the pretty
wiggle of a sign. You have to hold on for half a prescient inkwell, do the
thing, don the mask and stop being so lucky with the narwhals. There isn't
enough time to be a Tuscan Adaptor, you'll have to live within your means in
the vat of beans. Omens at the tips of your toes are tough to beat and so say
all of us, we who run in the air with our jowls preventing the inclusion of
phone numbers. The speed is coming on, coming along with BAM.
You
have superb balance and a snap to die for, the kind of dying you'd only see at
the finest ballets in the grimmest backyards. Licking the rolling of a ball
pays off ultimately. We have two points to go and the fibreglass will stick to
your residential fantasy nerd. You're blue philosophy, back where you started,
making a difference and being as kinetic as a golf ball can be. The two of the
twins and the three of the beret-wearing jerks will wait out the hula storm
with cranky individuals that chase their own grandchildren in spurts of future
balance.
-LEGS,
TORSOS, HEAD, PRISONERS, LEMURS, BRAVE HEARTS, GRBABING THEM UP, DOING IT FOR
THE ROBOT ARMY, GRABBING THE WIRING, SNAPPING THE WIRING, LAYING THE WIRING OUT
ON THE PARTY MAT, ROLLING IT UP, STINKING THE PLACE OUT, LIVING AGAIN WITH A
FAT FUCK FOR A BIRD, DYING AGAIN-
Well
the scientists were the twist the whole time and captains ride the hellish
landscpae with flabby irises and a bawling man in a suit jacket. Look at him
swim! He occupies the drive with the puddles that brown around him, floating
upward in gaseous bubbles with excited bubbles packed up inside. Has someone
read a holy book yet? Billy the Lopsided has, he did it a year ago.
The
best logic has been put down with a lethal injection and the cumulative total
has been shot in the face with its own problematic rifle. DO YOU SEE THE
EVENING DO? DID YOU SEE THE EVENING DO? I must have mentioned this before in
yellow text. The first thing said was adorable and the second thing was
Venusian. Without the letter varnish, the meanings drop like incomplete rafts
on incomplete water. They're all straight out of Cuba.
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