27/04/2014 - THERE WERE SIRENS FOR PREGNANCY

There were sirens for pregnancy, of pregnancy, under pregnancy, fucking A and G. As always the happy people shook hands and wore flannel jackets for a time with the hope of killing a few dozen hordes before the sun fell in itchy patterns across the international face. That kind of parlour leads straight to maturity and some of the whereabouts concerning the real shit that everyone likes talking about with conviction. The doctors and their deer hunting schedules often bring this about very swiftly. Not tonight, not while the leader is marrying his own sensibilities for money and prestige. Its common law and the chefs will bear hug it as if it were their God given right to be their own confectionary. Of course there is a space, a period, a glimpse of denial as the skirts are drawn back but maybe they could use more play to test that the rest of the world was all right with lousy banner posters and heavily-laden tables filled with insubstantial old worriers and their kitchenette items that they bring with them everywhere just to fuck hell right in the capital town. Listen to the bludgeoning of the tire irons that hate beautiful women simply because they sing low notes without difficulty. They needn’t be so violent but they are.

            We are the long last and gladdened with eyes on the ball and the beer bottle lid purely for scientific comparison and weakness assessment with frothy desire and desirous lion-taming according to steelworkers who frequent the babyish loneliness of trust and pretty sisters of the green and inspected. Who prays for the cruelty-tipped hours and the one single flight of loved-up tuxedos. Don’t ever get in a car with one of these dudes, that way does asbestos lie. Apparently the iron works so that’s why I’m taking an age to touch for the princess and constrict his wedding with low-charge Islamism and the telling of one thing in the mountains with a cigar in one hand and another straight in your mouth. The dipping of dabblers is about to achieve tree growth status, something so popular it is accepted and tied down by nails in the ass and the lowering of car smashing standards. Some guys still feel safe but the fact is that furry hats will most assuredly establish weapons tapering as if under the customary flower on a coloured man’s lapel. He hit us and just wandered off in penile servitude among other female things that are preferably done on the night of the attack rather than during the drills far earlier in the process.

            I was told there was going to be a raffle but that’s goodbye to my potatoes and my picketing of their lowered standards, we just can’t get out of the rain and shrug off physical shadow just to corner sociopaths for their twinkly bells. She never asks for longer than usual. This is a Level 82 then you know that the support will not turn on anything you believe in.