20/08/2013 - BEHOLD AN INDENTED HUBBUB!

Behold an indented hubbub! Zero brings her straight back to her roots. The unchained man has fled her for a unique job title and specific hiring opportunities. Something big may be in the works, something exclusive and in desperate need of ordering. It takes an awful lot to cancel on our Lorna Fortnight, she is an angel at her very core and manages spaceships with her monetised origins. The unchained man is a runner and does little else to pass the time. He often carries a cheese grater so if you see a man matching this description, be sure to shoot to kill and then ask questions of the corpse in the unlikely but still possible eventuality that it can still transmit wordy messages. Otherwise, how dare you, white dude!

            You see, it wasn’t how things started with her that was the problem it was how she knew they were going to end. Lorna has seen herself a paraplegic with severe back problems and an inability to mouth harsh vowels. She has undergone extensive surgeries and speech therapy sessions but the spotlight just won’t let her be. It seems that the yellowy glimmer has a sick sense of humour and a burgeoning tendency towards hindsight. Nevertheless it wants to see another day practically every other day so Lorna will remain in a perpetual ball of pain until some gentleman in pastoral glad rags comes along and purifies her milkshake. The cowpoke is doing everything he can but she won’t let him near her without a chaperone, which is fair enough but how can she spend the rest of her life regretting the act if she won’t comply?

There are many clouds to be watchful of and watchful over but only thirty of them are German. Each of these Germanic cumuli is out to defy weather patterns with their scratchy silver linings. You could lose yourself in the tribunal to put it very simply. Next time you might even see Lorna’s hubbub in the buff. She doesn’t half look good for a woman who is as swollen and tampered with as she is. Her buttocks, for instance, they leave plenty of room for cushy vengeance plans whilst also leading almighty charges and marches into vivid pantheons. It doesn’t take a whisper to become notorious, whispers echo in here anyway. Think of it as verbal scrimmage, a lovely allowance to horse about for a bit.

You see, it isn’t how she has coped with her suddenly difficult life as a gardener, it is how she boasts about the wonderful freedoms it brings. The other ladies of lavish cuttings and trimmings are starting to plot awful offal-based attacks on her bramble patch, reinforced by the occult arts and various other sickles of black magic. Voodoo is a daytime thing, something we can all sort with a bit of practice and a sprinkle of duress. The real and present danger is the knuckle cracker who is out there in my field currently, composing ditties about a memoranda.