Sesame bloodhounds ride the
waves that grind the spade into the yellowing earth. It involves a ululating westward
dry heave and demands the highest attention span possible in ferret language.
Luckily I speak the tongues of the rodent people so I don't have to pay their hefty
tax fees. I suppose I'm a knobbly old so-and-so that's why she won't rescind
the highest plate to my grasp. Tis fateful, tis frightful. Erasmus plays valet
to her thoughts and whims but disregards her fingertips and their colourful ways
of saying 'Fuck you'. I tell him to oust
those negative thoughts but he's just too busy decorating spires like some hyperactive
monkey fungus. Allow me to remind them of the ghetto ways and how they can fold
up into a neat little napkin for the racially cleansed.
The hole is broad and we're just
supposed to tug at the holy beard. Yards and yards and yards and yards and
yards and yards and yards of queer thinking that tends to belong to the walking
mouths. Thank you cards shall be distributed forthwith and see it that I don't
make the appropriate gesture as this happens. Now I'm recognising the methods I
recognised then as I clutched the hairy of the faulty dragon. How wrinkled are
my hopeless token snipes. Cruise control for the deft and handsome. How typical
of you weaklings that do not dance the jolly old dance of yore.
Septic grins are a commonplace
attraction for these empty-headed braggarts. Respectful candies are a ring
binders retreat to glad rags. Lymphoma is not an exit strategy for these huddled
masses of master less blenders. I'm surprised that I even have to tell you, after
all you were the one who enlightened me in the first place. Oh well, sometimes
these things slip like minds from a frozen kiosk.
The blackened pens are drawn to
greater passions than can be mustered by such vile and crippled handy wipes. They
wear aprons as a matter of practice and determine how the cardigans should fall
from the naked waist of tepid love. Here's hoping that the tartan stripes will
regain their common cause and play lightly off of the cartoon seedlings. If not
we are all expected to turn in our badges and shake our union booties outta
her. Trademark delight is a deception of the lowest seniority and will not pack
well into waterproof doggie bags. Spaniards before beauty and all that jazz.
Zero is beheld by only a few welcome passages and refuses to never be seen
again afterwards. It is a promise.
We were told that there would be
a party. I was told that there would be fanciful hats. You were told nothing
and that's just the way we wanted it to be. All along the paddle boat, you
twittered about folding fabrics and joining zipper to zipper. It really
mattered to you. How indifferent we are to your sad little ways. I am crazed
and dismayed but will carry on regardless.
The lectern creeps around your
legs, licking your booties. Rotundity and rotator cuffs will blend at the
behest of the crows. Their little beaks growl at indifference and they haven't
taken to you just yet so be warned, keep a look out. I'd even suggest a bodyguard
as if it would matter much. Blackbirds go for bald black men and damn the
consequences. It's pandemonium to someone as delicate as you or me or I. After
a while the guarded amongst the suits will tumble away and drink from brazen
cups like the dancing we do in the middle of the night. It's really rather quaint
really. I wouldn't say quintessential for many reasons and I'll probably get
into them later if you are so lucky. Don't forget this is my borrowed time and
you can eat shit before I give it all up to you in one go. The glare of polar
bears draws out my eyes and I will not bow to anything else short of the
handless arm bands. Work it and rework it and demand that it pays the rent
before the fifth. This is the way you live: I am just going to the bathroom but
then I will sing a song about abject poverty and then do a little dance to
concern my parents who live just a little further down the street. How
fabulous, my darling. The board walk is nothing to be scared of but I shall
bleed myself wet before I saunter through the splinters again. It's not prejudice
if your eyes are closed. Promise. Scout's honour. Draining the wolves of
seminal fluid. Brag about the sights and the sounds but not about the smells because
we're eating currently thank you very much. You can be a prick sometimes, let's
face it. The bugs are out to play with the lederhosen again. How horrendous are
we to think this way. Mr. Muggins shall have something to say about this when I
jumps down off his pen. The transplant will be filthy process and it's probably
best that we all turn away when it finally does happen. Maybe we could shop
instead? That'd be nice. That'd be like grafting pleasure onto boredom with a
soldering iron. The hour is passing by with a windy wiggly tail. It slithers in
spandex and hopes it looks damn good while doing it. It's a kinky little thing,
is this hour. Mother Pico Second would be scandalised at the site of it.
Nauseous ridges will hang from the glen and we can do nothing but sup on our
wine. The truth is the finest vintage when your pockets are pushed in such a
way that is unavoidable. Believe me, I know whereof I speak. You should too,
you're the one with the nipple clamps. It's time for a rescue, I do believe. Maybe
we should leave the cape this time? I know you'll groan but that's a benefit to
me. Ready, steady, diving board!
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