18/06/2103 - A FRENETIC STAIRCASE

            A frenetic staircase: don't look at it! It's ablution! So sexed up! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, hah! Let's establish the bastard just like the government sucks in a mindless vortex sort of way. Relentless Friday Magic is the new idiomatic moniker for hire, cast atop a swirly background. It was fairly academic, a conclusion reached by frightened consequences. The abduction is not illegal and weir comes out from beneath the gun of Jasmine. She  fell out of Erasmus' ass and arse like a silken stool. How awesome is it to be burned by superpowers? It makes brains out of atomic cats and flashing grizzly bears. Let's dig into the worst aspect of linkage and doom the pistol chair. Why not Photoshop the dwindling seals with flaming swings? The chic is coming in the storm of purple lady and her wandering pulpit, crammed full of cutesy diaphragms. Just throw the Asian spandex out of the window and spin away from the trade-off before the five o'clock shadow says pish tosh. I'm already bordered after thirty seven seconds and the meaningful youth is currently rising out through my thematic pores. Ejection of Points is the official title for talking heads. Oh yay. Heehaw.

            Shiver my futuristic typeset, revive the aged drinking game before contraband lets go of its own fine upstanding witnesses. This, I suppose, is Boron: an element of brown-eyed rabblerousing and the master producer of devilment. It makes for a good enough suitor to bodily stones, a poster boy for slaughter. That sort of event is good for expressionism, a telltale sign of rampant integrity and the gnarly emblems we've gotten used to thanks to aphorism and deadened jazz funk. It's not good for studies to get ahead of their shutter physics. Provocation's like havoc, in the spirit of the Essex theme and curious at that. I do feel taller than the teller by due course but the chants are beating me down into a plate of latter day parcels. So it has to be a good excuse or it's war by euphonic cleaning. SOMUCHRAYWAYTHINKINGANDPALMINGANDPLUMSURGING. SOMEHOWWEGOTAWAYFROMTHESURREYSIDESHRINKER. STAYOFLEAVEOREAVESOFFLAGELLANTFORTITUDES.

            God of Medieval brides, raise up the guide and its myriad of pan clasping. It's what I do when I freeze to death, I'm a trained professional who keeps his arms strapped across the bell. My architecture travels in wisps of healthy doormen. Go outside to be outlined and fervour will reward your details in ghastly peacock madness. Myself in a meat tenderiser, all out of forest fires. The starry deployment is just for the boys in uniform, weaponised woodland especially for the pissed-off service. It's the exact sort of basis for a webbing to rise from, suckled by a quietly confident headmaster. Right then, the sultry shoelace will do its best to overcome this particular travesty. In short, Erasmus will make it go away like a spattering candle on an incoming frigate. Consider the financial terms of tomatoes, consider how they could be applied to happiness again and again. STOPPERS.