07/04/2014 - HELP A GUY OUT

Help a guy out by hermetically sealing the chair focus group member. This is not the guy that you are helping so rest assured but please don’t actually rest because that would be contrary to the task required of you at hand. The only way to wind the day is to tape something on a VCR and act like it’s live until the point where your eyes become pebbles of blackened source magic as produced by the burnt-up stand-up comic at the end of chides of the heavens. That last thing is a movie but we can’t seem to find it anywhere because that would prove invaluable to our personal war effort. The raging of battles requires more bloodthirsty hiccupping and incitation of a conjurer’s respectability. This shirt-wearing contest is really tiring him out, right from the logic to the tips of his ears.

            As per usual the printer is spitting scanner bits right into our faces as we work through the night in our desperate attempts at reclaiming a sense of dignity through prosaic chitter-chatter, something which none of us expect to work and yet everyone climbs upon every chance that they get. I’ll see the ambulance in my dreams and hold the cadaver there in polite resurgence of the fact that the rumour is but a smaller bit of the very same dream that is currently swelling the key lobes of my submariner brain. The tools of the trade are yet to assign responsibility to disposal methods so keep out of the way of making sure for, as we all know, the totems and map imagery can be inspiring to all the wrong kinds of people rather than the slick-hided.

            The dog is on the verge of papier-mâché and really wants to tell us about it with hoity-toity flourish and breath mints that go on for absolute ages and yet no longer than it takes a lover to sigh at the other’s visage. The showers will come straight out with it and call up the national guard in the hopes that it’ll make you sweet on them and see how sweet and edible their flesh can be to the living. It isn’t gainful, it’s painful. Erasure happens so often that the paint tins can be fashioned into elaborate lie detectors via the simple act of faltering over stumbled deliberations that would take years to recompense in any case.

            As one woman to another, please benefit from my knowledge: pornography is a quaint pastime. There’s nothing inherently destructive about it but it does degrade in places and won’t be biodegradable until the day they can illustrate exactly why men need it to keep their brains sharp like tachyons fresh from the grindstone and buffer. Eat, drink and be mal but please don’t give into Brimley fun just yet, not while the ruddy still live without axes in their hearts and a song where their special lobes used to be. THE BATTLE GOES ON…AND ON…AND OUTSIDE OF PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE… AGAIN.

06/04/2014 - THIS PLACE IS INFESTED

This place is infested, crawling with fire engines and megaphone motherfuckers with their ties all out of place. Drugs have dwindled here whereas hearing is at an all-time ambivalence. They tell you to fudge yourself, the police in this time; they command you to be more than enough for most French-speaking nations filled with stiff dicks and sorry ships that only head out to Rotterdam.

 

You stay right next to me while I sign out for help amid the cold blue light. You'll stay with me forever, no matter how much I may or may not resemble the wire netting that surrounds Jesus in most post-modern depictions of business essentialism and the pop culture references will just drive you wild in the knee-knocking, talent show department. Bullets fly freely and the bubble bath is in fact big enough for a third and unmolested party. The gun corralled enough out of my firing range and now wants to suck up into the nearest available trowel. Well good luck to bad rubbish as the waterfalls whisper post-coitus. The orange van commands you to jump and cancel every show that you never attended in the first place. Since the novelty of paperwork has become a wash, we shall go about our survival in a half-size crib. The sudsy water and the heavy wooden planks don't tend to be. a problem but, alas, elbow newspaper.

Rewards are coming in while the rest of the wild want to share their own conversation zapping. It's prissy and not an attempt to buy the green drugs for a raid on liquorice recursion and their fusty invitations. People always complain about streams and wind-up merchants that sometimes sink within them because of severe pushing. Take advantage of the conversation and quickly. The beta will incur charges that increase the likelihood of your moniker. This is a pocket watch before you roll your eyes. Restrain them, constrain them, moniker them. This is the very hard difficulty of the confusing element that is usually attacked by Mobius strip enthusiasts. A lot of people see you and think of the renewed reaper and its expansion of hips.

 

Consider where we are. Are we patched in? All I know is that we’ve been playing it a ton like true crusaders in a natural storyline of relevant chance. There’s more to get out of it through listening and rewarding according to independent developers of collective material. The steam troopers are going all square, they vote the best and the most eccentrically through crowd-sourcing within twenty-eight days. Thank the elders but do not touch them, just the itchy parts of their cloak. You might heal them before date night thus causing all promotional merchandise to come across properly and higher up in circumstance. Through the collective process, we expect to make money as regularly as radar noises or seconded IPs that aren’t too interesting or clear for the sickening excuses and violently ill intentions. We’re at the very top of the library, going the opposite way.

05/04/2014 - THIS IS HOW

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

04/04/2014 - ASK THE NOISE OF A SAINT

Ask the noise of a saint, as a saint, for a saint. It is your saintly duty to walk out on angry children who lie about £500 and $500 as if the two were never interchangeable. Empowerment will buy grease for the hibiscus extract to make cheese within the swollen belly of television sets. Superficial seconds come to a grinding halt. Live more for the sake of satellites on grass with answers on the spot. Beautiful, peaceful tarmac. The letters on the letterhead, get ready for their battle stations. Use and abuse. Give a little nod to the man in the whirling jacket as he passes through your lawnmower to eat all the pasta. I’m flattered but really not okay.

1. Stick around for the big businessman who will thread bobbins for our entertainment and partial education. Don’t take a stance before your time is due, not while the spiritual, contemplative music remains on the airwaves like a bad case of the clap. Camera 3 wants to stab you right through the middle to prove a just point to a moot audience whilst draped in an ill-fitting pair of boxers. They are ready for us to droop from the journey and raise the hayfield in the name of heart displacement. Staying power needs a funny article of clothing to prove its existence ahead of takeout and subsequently takeaway. I’m a dead man for the showers. He knew, he knew all along. He knew all about non-stop shopping like it was written on the back of my heartfelt hand. The enemy aims his telescope.
3.  
4. This is the G-spot for apology, this is continuance of nuance and happiness brings back the shaded worldwide security. The red-faced woman is gifted like a shank to the hosiery, like a shard of glass to the shark-infested filling. Go out like another person and you come back a saint, it’s guaranteed. They say it like just a bit ago would say it to you; the right thing is costly and green without spots and sparks of neglect. Can you get a shot from a kiss from a scented envelope? Shall we love the aubergine better? The endstop is dirty and racing to get to you so what we should really do is deal with the studio like one would a headphone or a peachy keen countenance. The craze is being chased by you this time, so wait a go in the storeroom cupboard as love tears the party in twos and threes that comeback, always comeback. Promise that goodbye isn’t a cloying of cloister bells being blessed in imminent flush. Question not those whom belong to your country but those who have no country for they are the mincers of sundown and the cast learning to double themselves up.
6.  
7. Paragraphs train to kill from childhood and bark like a dog due to hypnotic breathing patterns. Here, turnstiles become a commodity and the wealthy are disenfranchised from the millions upon millions of star charts that would normally be available to them scot-free. Angels.

03/04/2014 - SO VERY MEAN, SO VERY HEAVY

            So very mean, so very heavy, so must we be. The cup has dithered long enough and now is the time to rise up in pinkish shirts to slay the Cowboys and Indians action figures and their racist connotations. The era of hombres has begun - saddle up, pardner. This the new speed of the CD, it's the hype that has its own immortal barcode. All the women in this vicinity have taken up masturbation as soon as my last breath. This was not my doing, obviously. This was the hereditary encapsulation of the alienated spirit taking effect in drastic coin-tossing mannerisms. It all really depends. It all cannot help but be cannon fodder for the purgatory of being thrown head and ankle first out of the window. If you see anything suspicious just move on and wish me well in all my future conquests of mind, body and sometimes spirit.

                                                            How very transparent of you, how very translucent of you, how very opaque of you: these are your choices. Feed them to your rush hour grundle, call up all major broadcasting networks to express the mess that your heart has just been lain into. Gesticulate with gigawatts and come off the boil before the superintendent sees your there and always have been. The watch are tanning at the end of the month, get your ambitious third series out of the way then. Bodyguards are nowhere near as Oswald. This means the seeds are devastating not even of British Secret Intelligence - how on earth can we trust the phrase 'Ta-Dah'? So ultra and yet without distinctive healing powers. At least it has the right fingers to work the control box.

                                                                        The burial ceremony will commence at nineteen thirty. The Yorkshire police, Yorkshire's Finest, will execute finesse like cheese cutting through wire. The killers will have to check their contracts and bleed on the dotted line before the keyboard juice stops hanging on with hellish butt. Sororities and fraternities will march the barricade and tamper with all the bus shelter seats just to screw with the bashful populism excited by all the lesbian titillation. Guardians of Flat Pack meet the Fiercest Laundry to make a classic piece of children's literature come alive again in ways that the author never formerly believed were possible. Imaginations are limited by the fear of order, the strictness of elucidation without hallucination. Time will tell the fruit machine.

            Who feels like anything from the salad bar? Who art thou to speak of me in this way? You're a spring-load trap is all you are. The curdled smash of happy records being sent forth into the knifeman's stronghold as an expression of disbelief. The moments are as morose as a shit grin. On the night that we are drunk, we shall see revelations transpire and arouse the penetration of healthy nineteen thirty right in the buxom configuration. The humanity it will lose will be staggering but the scissor kicks and urinary tract infections will surpass mortal teaching.

02/04/2014 - I AIN'T NO HAUNT

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!

01/04/2014 - HARDLY PREPOSESSING IS JEALOUSY

Hardly prepossessing is jealousy. It’s more of a stylish trimming of the hair and a bent over chair covered in a pomade of lotion. Seduction does little for such a visage as that guy’s over there. You see how he fills the bar stool? You see how he BADUM BADUMS like fire has caught him right between the eyebrows. What can man require more than pretty churlishness? How often we should rest with the desirous profundity of the rhombus! How many purposes! So much purpose! Oh my. Who is intended for this warship outside of petty chancery? Oh, Mike. Yeah, I know Mike. He trampled me once back in my bay window days, those cheerful fractional days of light breathing and moderately attractive women with their bosoms heaving and their vanishing points too broad for correction in lateritious conversation. She shall have the excellence that cannot be heard or primped by the action hero in his action vest and floods of orange, angry skies. Merry moods do so much for our brisk community like a comb for our sooty treatise. We go round with the oven at our backs and the flank to the right, always to the right. It’s how we get our kicks and kickbacks.

We usually stop at November and bring it on back around to the airport before the big bosses get their noses all up in our muss and muzzle because then usually the gals come out from the woodwork and demand their civil checks and rows upon rows of amber glass monuments. The tractor creaks and tells tales of automatic doors which make the strong among us whimper until the units have been bathed and sufficiently filled with old bargain games. This is what’s usual, usually. The unusual storm comes into town only once in a blue moon and those make for very particular measurements of idyllist curtness. The brass band shall have none of mine, at least as long they practice their warbling three streets down from my hovel. This is where my coven sleeps and feeding time can be manic anyway. The time is now for the tangled truth to come apart and to prove itself in righteous conquest of ladies bathroom appliances.

The runes make for quality short stories provided that you can translate them into something even doctoring on Switchblade English. The lexicon is limited but growing thanks to the thriving thrifty subculture that swarms about the base of most liquids and their remnant stains. The grease can be sweet to the touch and indifferent to everything else that doesn’t smell quite so adamantly of glue and wheat-based products. The eyes and the ears and the nose are cruising along at a cool fifty two and they won’t take no guff from no mister or sister or iambic tetrameter ahead of its planking schedule. Regulations have to be tooled and painted blue for traffic warning purposes, especially if used whilst working out on the roads and motorways. Dual carriage ways are not permitted.