Parental
support no, no, no. The dog is choked by the moments that choke human's up and it's
up to you, good sir/madam, to save its little tail from expiring. I smell a
celebrity cameo! It smells like smoky bacon crisps that have been left on a
sidewalk in America, in some undisclosed town in a lazy indie movie that
focuses mostly on the scene transitions. This is not a good way to start off a relationship with oneself, one's own shadow
three weeks from now. Graft it from the back of the stairs and prop it up
beside you and there you have it - oneself. Or rather one self, singular. Does
it depress you to know that the police have your shadow in lockdown? Your
shadow has done quite a few naughty things in its time of separation, it's
campaigned for many righteous activist groups. I'm not going to tell you which
because I'm a petty agent of justice out for my own end.
Need
like a reed or an on-call ward. You put up with so much and ask for so little
simply because father was considerably more Scottish than uncle while he was
reading his pint of whiskey in case the lines blinked and bubbled. Don't let
those suds step out of line or your son of a bitch ass is fried. There goes the
American film industry again, the indie films are marrying the popular ones.
Babies will follow with long noses and toes and thumbs that stick out in sore
ways. Poor gentlemen are currently residing in my basket case until further
notice, until movements stop and the sensitivity forces its way into the holy
books. The manuals will take that shit better anyway because the police are
encouraged to enforce it. This is the fiftieth anniversary of Uranus going
balmy for the Islamic holidays.
Also
tonight: belligerent word leaders will resort to humble slapping to combat
their mutual melanomas and beard abstractions. Fit me with a camera and call me
lucid! Speaking of which, the whithersoever is the sound a songbird makes when
its overcome by ambivalence in a galleria. Special correspondents are paging
doctors and doctors are paging orthopaedic surgeons. Unfortunately they are all
on the monkey bars in the local park, trying to sink their teeth into the
plastic covering the metal alloy. The tears you see in the next wink of
daylight shall be like industrial drills on the bicuspid.
So
say hey, hey, hey, hey, hey to all female police officers in case the next one comes
along and wears the cufflinks across their altered bows. This is the
decision-making while this is the king-making. You can go forth by skill alone
now, diligence and groovy looks are just a hamper in basket cases much like my
own. I will bury the damn thing in the Dead Sea along with the ashes of
Pocahontas and her one-time lover Neil, the contact lens dealer. He has
resentment for the salvage crew.
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