23/02/2013 - LAW CANNOT BE A GOOD THING

            Law cannot be a good thing for the slimy toads. Yum-yum gobbled the green grocers' child prodigy. How distastefully we all sat that day! How on edge of the precarious this or that! Heavenly scents brought us down again and made us realise the temerity with which we approach the Yugoslavian embassy. The quibble is over and done with but the resounding victory eats us up inside. I live inside a hope and demand only the finest drawing pins for luncheon. Friendless and asinine, you trod over my gravestone before I got the chance to polish. Where shall my spittle go now? I ask you.

            Rupert is timid and Erasmus knows this and he constantly abuses Rupert because of it. It's quite poetic if you think about it. It's perfectly carnivorous. The pages turn themselves and quell the banana peel disaster that is our mutual heart. Bowties and boxers rape the whirligig of Armageddon dance-off parties. Warty mutterings mumble out of an apple crumble refridgerator. Crimp and rap methodical but only ever operate in total darkness. That is my guardian call. Request the frogs before the clouds come curling.

            The bear is a rigger on the southern brow that you saw that one time in your devilled egg childhood. Lonely nails jingle out the trudging and walk over groaning boots. Where the dents come from we can only speculate. The rope crisps parsecs and drums down on humble ugly. Yellow picture frames talk about goodly numbness. Bobbin delights are a hostess' screwed-in eyeballs. How grey the temples get when you forget the reasoning of fallibility. Naivety is a joking, japing snack of yurts and validity cannot understand the way the barcodes work when faced with blank mouths. Beardless burgeoning is a nubile bastard and reflects nuptial regards regardless of glazing noses. Oh the opening! Oh the fowling! Oh the oh so simple vowel sounds! I grind my teeth against them, as well as yours. Such a maddening operant condition. Curvatures make their faces known among the pied anoraks. Peterborough saw the turn of the revolution and sang a little ditty about me and how I passed in the daytime.

            Slumber is a slumber and I arranged a rose to be sent to your hotel room before the trolley attendant crows. Handles are a grandeur best left in the car and you and you and him are the culprits for this particular case. Specifically, I am in charge of nothing. Know me well and sex for favours, if you please. Effective immediately, provided you are known among the brown noses. The envelopes are all over the table and you just need to ask. Honour my quiz and broker a deal with the dean as the minutes pass.

            The itinerary is not mine to push, it is yours. The fluffy nasal expression is the craven deception that we all seem to seek in this day and age. The lights and the ghosts are in cahoots to make a raid on the last dowry. Say goodnight to the palette and wash the rigid.