19/05/2014 - ASK ME FOR THE CHEQUE

Ask me for the cheque,, ask around and learn the buzz and how its not really featured anywhere higher than the Empire State Building. You should grab your coat and get along your way before the hairdryers start blaring Christmas marching tunes and the chairs rise up to walk away for a short time only. My clock is chartered and beside the sink, hovering over the taps like a precarious posit on displacement theory or black screens from various continents all across the Southern Divide. That’s the power of,,, that’s the power of schnozz and conk and the lady in her monosyllabic wheelchair that squeaks out into the night messages fresh from the mouths of recently delivered prisoners and their horticultural hobbies as transgressed by social media. The coleslaw was delicious and the train demarked for the priory of posterity. Pull the bog roll and don’t take the time too seriously,,,, you can very well tell that the old woman has her facts straight and that she doesn’t want a new quilt set until she’s checked up on the encyclopaedic fish menagerie. This is a distressed woman so you best damn well better take it seriously or the ticker’s up for you, mister. The ticker’s wrong-sounding.

 

            There’s the pitcher with his hands in the lake, washing beneath his fingernails for refreshment before the Superbowl. It was his wife who told me to shove off, eat a dolphin, become better off with fervour. I’m right in the invitation, I’m sure of it; the masquerade was just edgy enough for unconscious barking at the self. What the hell was going on there in my mind? Somebody told me all about naptime and I was suddenly right there, reading about sneakers and penalties. In time you could even become a kidnapper of some salt at the victory bell. Break out of the hysterical sobbing of hyperspace or shut up about missing the snap-cut message in bare buckle pressure. The laces were in during close combat and the pipes were well used for the purpose of mastering ladies of the blanket. Have trouble and you shoot him with fiction of poppers, straight from the handbook. We were committed to a false pretence for reality humiliation.

            Ladies and gentleman, we have no new evidence concerning the clicker retching of some hitherto unseen personality. Our beloved star is becoming a football for the season, for the reason that cheering on yellow teeth can miss the point of a kiss in the rafters and the cameras trained on them just because ALBINO PIGEON says so. Pick your fist fights once in a while or prepare for the special thanks as they crash from animal to animal on the long path to End Bone. Tarzan has a few chortles at the expense of apple corn trees, thus denying their mitigated existence among the glamorous pond life. The game is through for the sitting homies but nothing can ever stop the standing ones because of their German rings and penile effects.