22/11/2013 - IT'S BROAD AS IT IS NOBLE

            It's broad as it is noble and it could do so much more to ingratiate itself to the paper munching Montgomery's of this aquiline port. They never have sex with me or my family and I take that as a grove of compliments. The warden has the only right to thank me for trying anything external to my inhabited locus. I would like to return the favour to you for all the times you shovelled your twitching fingernails into my admittedly bland beard. I'll be in tomorrow, hearkening the duck storm to throw down on hooded Africa. She has no weak bones in her sandy bodkin.

            Our profiles are live on the air and garbed in pink frilly fortifications, the healthy kind that drag you down beneath the surface of your navel and teach you the importance of authoritative action and, sometimes, direction too. It's good to know these women run away and scream with their bagpipes on tour buses. My time-travelling name is dainty and often parked around tight corners just to see if the letters can squeeze and live twice within the same cluster of minutes. It's not entirely weird but it's entirely clandestine either, it's raided and robbed of all official standing in relation to metrical intrigue.

O, sorrowful tart of relentless grief! Now you get FYI dentures as donated by your paddle-spanked grandfather! Regret! Woe! Pest Control! It's just the worst!

            Anything is better than this spoken knavery and its brutalised cartilage. The arc reactor is fresh out of orgasmic flame retardant so you're the one to go down to the shop. Make sure you avoid getting elected whilst you're down there. I'd much rather not have a repeat of my recurring nightmares. Ta. Gawd. Lordy, please let him drop five stone on the way to the high street. I promise I won't make crucial missives about pretzel cleaning anymore. This is the very sound of deerstalking through bushels of comely laughter. It builds and it builds and, after so much building, it dries my melancholy down to a thin grain of pea soup. It aches at the sight of it, it gives you the long stares whilst ascending medium-sized staircases without a care in the world.

            For once in my thumping life of thumping aptitude, I just want to say that Christmas is coming and should be drunk with meat straight from the captive quail. Do this while the going is tough and you might even get a recommendation from the bookstore clerk herself, the one with the guidance beam to your lefty bleeding heart. It could keep you together but I'm not going to just watch you read off tick marks from a grocery list. In the UK, we call them shopping lists because we're practical that way, we generalise our food because its going in and all deserves to be listed together. It wouldn't be so good to let me go on with this Union Jack jacket, not while home has a harp in its butt.