Aside from hugs, the lectern doesn't
like physical touching so please don't fizzle or pop. If you feel that shit
coming down on, you do it at the plinth. I want a divorce. The enablers are all
decorative vegetables in the church, slung across the pews and raining down
bath materials as if they were hazardous to someone without his will and
testament in order, revved up and pushing 50 down a one-way street. It tastes
nice, this stock; it sticks in the mouth and reverently refers to my verbose
gums. Meanwhile the rest of me glistens and glints away.
What
is everybody? Where does it constitute? How does it simmer? In an egg cup? With
soldiers? One night. One night with egg-fried rice. It's not an unusual question
on a quest like this, at your request I might add. It's good to lack something,
still at the temperature it needs to be at. Spill the stains and you don't know
what from what or when from Wendigo. It's a tragedy, it's a shame. The rain
blows and the sun whistles down and nothing is certain aside from petal blossom
on the sphinx's good eye. I'm not quite ready to hallo angels, I don't have the
correct command function let alone the adaptable circuitry. I'm maleficent,
strung up by the wings of destiny. Harp plays softly, precious tunes to a
familiar interlude. We're not far off now, are we? Six minutes. Right. You dry
and I'll wash the smaller parts into dust.
There
once was a port where you could picture yourself with loved ones past but they
closed it off due to refurbishment which was basically coded language for rainy
day destitution. Schoolboys still arrive from overseas to the sound of
disappointed wailings in the knoll. It stops and starts with its grassiness,
keyed into the configuration of mankind's unnatural light sequence. Aardvarks
and such like live in the pines now, their tongues reaching out towards hoarded
backs, all turned and splashed with red paint. Our correspondents told us it
was red paint but dye is still a distinct possibility.
Half
an hour later you'll be on all fours and wondering why your modesty is showing,
why it's been shown to all candidates in last week's grand examination. They
got it together in case you were to bare all at some point outside the privacy
of your foundation but, don't worry, I cut it off just before the knees. You go
that far south and nobody trusts you anymore, nobody will take their clientele
or cardsharps to your office for the foreseeable future. They've quantified the
tone of your skin, the exact tone and the results will be posted online the
next time you take a shower. There won't be any cameras in there, any streaming
aside from the water cascading down your long, prominent nose and the freckles
making off with your cheeks.
I
make a mean argument, slay those germy jerks all the way round their briefing
systems. We're causing all kinds of hassle, backhand.
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