Misuse
of the Missus will result in a flimsy chainsaw battle. How clever, how watery.
How helpless the infidel wanders through the valley of the shadow of a teapot.
It's Kabbalah and doesn't involve the ingestion of microscopic glue pheromones.
I am a heart on a pyramid, I'm not
supposed to be there without a warrant. It's like he said with the helium that
time: 'Go west and seek your procedural employment.' I never had time for his
jabber or his tendency to trickle down steps in a tentative fashion. Washers
and radios can go fuck a dingo while I retain this orgasmic sense of revulsion.
Playing with suitcases will do that to you and no-one will be around to see you
make sense of the straps. I personally forsook Velcro due to shameful japery,
this is not a buzzword issue or anything that the virgins would suit. Diametric
diaphragms are the bane of someone's existence, I just haven't met them yet let
alone directed their stage shows. Withdraw the piano and know pain by a flood
of erstwhile combs. We're all bound in the same direction after all but we
needn't cause the hairs to split like big bitches.
Forgo
the cabby and drink his wife's dial-up aroma or just assume that she will do it
because she's already on her knees looking for the manager's contact lenses.
It's an entertaining show but not the sort you'd laugh at. Call me superstitious
but I refuse to become a viaduct for these half-cocked policeman. Would you, my
dearest yokel? I suppose the ghosts scared the living out of the favourite socket.
We'll set the jumper cables to the headlights of hellish morons. It's a beau in
stitches and still worth a jot but maybe not so much a title. It's same old,
same old Susan and Erasmus: stab them in the effects.
Wagging
tails are a deft method for gaining the westward advantage. Saving souls is one
thing, groping for attainable love is another. The receiver is shoddy and
riddled with loathsome apparel but that's not the problem here, not so much the
problem. The difficulty lies in the fact that you go into town too frequently
and keep forgetting to bring back tumours for the aardvark. It's missing it's
sweetener and can get really crabby when undernourished. Nibs and the original
sin are lost to your left eye but I can abide you all the same. That's what
parenthood means, giving a damn. Dangling flowers are nothing in comparison to
my sterling trickery and impressions of Rasputin. I'll circumvent the elocution
lesson and teach you the lip movements before the sun has dithered over your
right nipple. That's what I've always tried to do.
In
closing I cannot help but call down the goats to dramatise my gulping dance.
The nudist quality is an ornithological quandary: I'll give it to you before
the door has fallen back inside its knocker. Ask for white carnage and you shall
hone your fragility.
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