You
know that some groggy pointer somewhere is shooting the breeze with that
aeroplane from your childhood. You can bet that that groggy pointer is some
detective with his eyes on the prize and a softness in the heart that makes him
susceptible to music and wine glasses. At least the sound of whistling still
drives you up the wall and then smacks you down; what a courtesy! You are most
assuredly a dog with his nose screwed on, a right old pooch to be endangered by
the recklessness of willy-nilly time travel. I even saw a few of your adverts,
such soft porn is surprising to the censors.
Let’s
you and me drop tabs in the lake and see what kind of poison the water supply
can make of it. The churning can be seen best from the gurney and then our
chins and cheeks will at last by settled on the same rigid path as the rest of
the sampled face. As of now the packaging has worth and almost worth the tarot
cards it was dealt with unceremoniously. Shopping channels want to report your
death but I won’t let them because I have too much respect for you and my date
night credibility. Let’s stay in and watch a VHS tape, you and me, and see how
little the elephants actually will care.
I
spend my day hanging up the phones of my colleagues to ensure the financial
wellbeing and my own selfish security because the case and the point are in
actual fact two very different objects in varying planes of existence. It all
comes full circle and the children won’t know until they’ve risen out of the
swamp and actually met with the vampires from their parent’s childhood and
their grandparent’s godhood. If you don’t have that particular story on tape
then I have been empowered to eradicate several memories from your more
pleasant experiences of days in life. Chart it on a photograph and the powers
that empowered me will turn you off and make a smart mouth and a howdy out of
your lower portions.
You
know that dart in the leg on a pub night wasn’t just planned, it was organised
by numerous competing elements as well. Elements in government = elephants = some groggy pointer out on the street with
determinations of seeing you putting around the golf course and doing little
else to contribute to the grind down of societal straining. You may have been a
good person once, a glad person, but now the telephone company want to know why
you’re being pursued by men with heavy purse strings and the fake eyelashes of
strippers name Candice and Simulation. The good people want to hail the
surrendered organisation with red marks in black hair like buzz kills at
crystalline parties with political undertones and a seriously kickass oompah
track ongoing.
All
the women want to sell you a fish tank. All the girls want to break you in on
the football pitch.
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