It’s entry, the entry or at least 40% of it. It’s not re-entry and does
not capitulate the rising of a hardback monstrosity. It’s just an entry, a
viable entry point that spreads its own escape route across every Welshman’s
dining room table so that they can get in on the action too. The sorority are
just the sort of people who would dare to crack this information for their own
selfish gain but we keep them at arm’s length with a constant, unexacting flood
of wine and cheese parties among various other rushing discrepancies. This trick takes up 5% of the 40% but it’s
well worth the exchange rate. You hear that? It’s change flying into our back
pocket with pock-marked irony. Irony makes a clinking sound whenever it rots to
a certain degree.
The whistle won’t massage the
cushion into a flowery bag. The whistle can do many remarkable things with
flans and other Machiavellian dishes but that’s as far as it skill extends. Not
even my family can alter the state of its entry, you have to hang a sign on the
door knob and who really wants to see that when they’re scoffing their lunch? I
know I like to lie a lot but that’s something I’ll most definitely never ever
lie about. Promise. That’s no exaggeration. I’ve touched my penis reverently so
you should accept this for the truth. Laughter should remain between two
friends and never pass beyond that particular zone. Otherwise return is
possible and you lose the orbit altogether. My dog feels distracted by the wild
and indifferent possibilities of a bay window that shows anything else. I
cannot lie to my dog nor would I want to, he sees through everything with his
x-ray vision and other parlour tricks. They are all viable weapons.
I couldn’t tell you why you know
why but I could try and perform it with sock puppetry. The dialect transcends
the cottony mouths and latches onto the skin with the kindness of pizzicato strings.
The thuggish wandering of my forefathers caused them to stumble on this
animalistic discovery, powered by peyote and washed in the flames of the human
condition. Who would be tempered any other way, who would want to be. Rather
than play the blame game, why don’t we just climb on top of our respective
ledges and dangle a few of our feet over the edge? The rest will fasten us down
and keep our shoes neatly within employment regulations. The economy is cutting
down on toe elastic and even more so on elastic toes because they are a freak occurrence
of nature and deserve to truncated with the utmost apprehension. This economy
needs a lick on the neck and a nibble on the ear.
So who would say that sewing is
a lasting resort? Who does currently say it because I want to give them the
biggest piece of my mind in backwards history. The welding should take a few
good hours but let’s see.
No comments:
Post a Comment