16/02/2013 - CONGLOMERATE ICE CREAM

Conglomerate ice cream is the best ice cream this side of the rosy atmospheric back talisman. The llama drinks wetly from wrinkled hands and demands nothing but the finest felt jackets. Rotation happens when nobody asks for it. Holy paper weights shun the light that is cast from the erasure marks and will only bend to them when Judas defies levity. The fabric intertwines with the sordid party hats of tomorrow. How i grew fingers on my toes, never you mind. This is a private perimeter so shut this down before I open you eye lid with a gentle curved spoon. I'm thinking the brass one is the finest fit for such a delicate no-hander.  Ripples are cast by the aghast and the gormless. Yuletide hair-raising is like razor sharp wit and the draining of key rings. Go now, go now, go now, go now, go now, go now, go now, go, now, now or never be free to do right by us. Salami is the only answer. Watch the blades twitch the pages and decide on their destiny with a fruit drink. It is how we wove the belt buckle through the eye of a storm. Latex wishes respect the iris in so many ways that it would be fraught with dangerous dalliances. Now then. What is ahead of us? Where should they take us when they think about it? Come down to it? Utopian bawdiness reminds me to swirl the kettle space into a malformed vacuole. Grocery for the graphology hampered. Their anthem is like the sound of sweat rolling and stroking and winding down after a long day at the beach. The curvature is leaving her blind so lay your justice with care. Forget the calm and the claimed. Forgiveness is a jumble of twisted xenophobic reactions. Refund is profound as is the way that you crack that corn fire into a numpty. Pound the ground and I shall turn away.

                I am facing the grasp of a hand that is a claw. You are grunting to your own tongue's joy and jocundity. Blast them and foul them with righteous yards. Mark the elm tree and walk backwards to see the sea without turning your head in the appropriate direction. This is all feckless and unromantic. This is a way of life to some people and to those people I say 'Well howdy doo and follow the transplant because you're not coming this way again, my children.' You are all my children and I accept only some of you. This is not bias this is a good way of discerning the sinister from the sideways. Themes are for the wuss and he shall say his piece in a minute, I am sure. Wasps and myself have things we need to say before the day closes to blinkers. Host a bonfire and tackle the lightning difficulties. See me with a hex in my sleeves, it bends across the collar and no-one should be surprised by this. Someone will be. That is the way.