I
ain’t no haunt for the salubrious cherry picker, I do my business in the forest
and make sure it’s an honest trade filled with creamy bits and salty handles. I’m
the sort of guy who’s in a position to make your life very happy provided that
you remain righteous while you stand don’t flick your hair or saw your hand
thus whilst we’re in bed together. Yes, we are in bed together and shall be
until the end of my singing career. I’ve just gone platinum, baby.
These
and other unknowable powers are mine to command, mine to master over the course
of eleven masterclasses held by saucy minxes and their inherent dislike of
canned tomatoes and their pointy sticks and laser pointers that go everywhere
else that the sticks can’t. Sexual harassment lawsuit. The average slow dance
can be perfectly tame but then the musical will get stuck on replay and the
recordings will wind your bodies entwined with archaic tape until such a time
as buttplay happens. All the imaginary friends of the last century, at least
all the prominent ones, will come forward and tie down the research and
development department until a connection has been made to sweet manufacture
and merchandise. Contrary to popular belief, this would not please me in the
slightest. My stock shares would plummet and the corsair will reclaim my doubloons
and set sail for my privatised hospital pantry. He’s a bit of an urban legend around
these parts but he can hold his own in the court of law. You saw correctly.
A
knife in the leg can be quite the breakfast treat, continental and loathsome
like a diamond worn on the lobe of a needle muncher and his divine practices of
monetary magicks. This is crunch time people, the little ones will be put to
bed and the rest of us shall shit-can their asses until the American payload
finally drops and puts our English sensibilities out of their constant misery.
I know I’m ready to lose every aspect of my identity just to seem cool. Did you
pack your lunch correctly? It has to be in sequence, remember. They set tests
just so they can scratch their beards and look at us like stationary oboes and
obese kitchenettes that suddenly regurgitate right on voluminous parquet. I’ll
remember ya, you and yer until the uppercut comes flying in via the post. That
will see the end of my hip support, that will.
The
girl with the cheekbones and face that could scorn a man’s big toes is coming
out to get me. She wants to take me to some sort of god awful nightclub just to
see how sorrowfully I strut my stuff. I’m forced to intuit that there are shutters
being lowered as we speak. The psychiatry will heat up and that will be us gone
on to plainer sunsets. The rays will take us by storm, tape us down to the
tattoo parlour and make us throw cardboard boxes at passers-by. My mouth!
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