07/08/2013 - OWN THE COPYRIGHT

Own the copyright, you cannibal cannabis plant. It’s time for a prerequisite of a tattoo of a punching XX chromosome in lady shades. It’s serious like twirling fireplaces filled with former silhouettes and moping cruise waves. Who polished the weeks past? You see the sketch but not the book cover, just elliptical proportions and online portfolios. The key to the city will make you divergent, stronger, an overall better read. The vocabulary is kept out of the back along with the dark love of normalcy. Do not send witty anecdotes unless you like a pendulum to the Eastern Standard Time. The finesse counts. The finalists don’t. You will have to forgive the ghost writers just like your forgave the narrow wind turbines. The winner has one week to give us the finished product or else you’ll launch the local hierophant with harmless tissue matter. Do you want to convert properly? It’s easy, so easy, so very, very easy. They look forward to your vile submission, the way you might bend your knee depending on how the feeling takes you. Have you ever heard loyalty through beat box cataclysm?

It is refreshing to see a small window filled with fruity videos covering underground coverage. The reporters rest on dustbin lids and spit unalterable watermelons. The episode starts pretentiously enough but the menstruation quickly takes over and leaves the ruination a castle in its own right. Did you want to do that? Well, you can’t, someone beat your hairy ass to it. Or did I mean arse? I meant karma. It breaks through firefly assistance and posits wetness. Could you cloud the mitochondria with barf juice? It takes superb timing and masked energy. Just for a second, maybe it’ll become clear enough for you to see it. There is a certain political slant. It could work as a stance with lower income. One little word might not summon dinner but ten might do. Portly newts will bring the platters on their back or so you’ve heard. I might be hallucinating the profitability of the entire action. Either way, best leave it undecided. It’s just a bit of a magical romp.

Give yourself to the checkpoint wince, let it rush over your get-up and boost you up to the Top 3 Clods. Let’s move the hose. You sound like a big help, a jokey spray of malleable flesh. There are eyes but they are not necessarily tasteful or tasty. They might even have a liberal agenda. Who doesn’t like waking oil with Alaskan boom mics? A sleep seems to have taken effect. It does feel better with the oven on. Look in case you need it again, the temperature that is. Talk about it, talk about the sister magazine now. The editor is a thoroughly impressionable bloke.  It blisters the hay you know, this diatribe. This diatribe seems to make its own crest, ripple like a reptilian wake. It claims asylum but don’t give the damnable thing the time of day. It’s there already.