21/05/2014 - COAT HANGER GROTESQUE

            Coat hanger grotesque, picking it out of the handkerchief for the sake of precision and typical science. Atypical science isn't really worth checking out or so they say, traps and buttons and triggers for them both. Alternative comedy movements destroyed the target thing and created honking great breasts that augment public opinion for the Liberal Democrats. I'm bored by the simplicity of the game, the authentic lines and endless excuses for being so hazy and blackguard. The greater sign is rematch, it heals my drain for a lot of fish to pass through it. The siblings are all the better for asking about the king of monsters and its political leanings. The giant radioactive tennis court formalises floral dressing with defeat like an adjutant. A few days later, there was improvement, not significant just implied through cannibalism and the build-up of acting.

            You're really invested, putting everything on the line for shock and awe that tag along with Lank Gods that spend their midnight hour making clever nods and remembering times past, namely 1954. The cover-up evens out the eating competition, it streamlines the pathetic slimming of newspaper clippings. I never understood that art directory or its frequenters with their Neanderthal knuckles and aircraft openings. The wives get axed while the meetings begin with arthritis and end with nuclear power. Two different films, both of which are from 1954. You are so wrong about that, by the way and I don't care what you're currently going through; it has no bearing on the phenomenal cock-up you're about to let out. Put your conk back inside and listen for the aftermath, there's plenty more smells to be genuinely curt with. It feels like twenty minutes of panning around various French cameras. Spoilers should be upgraded as per New York Settlement Standard Application Routing. Check that every narrow passage has been blocked up.

            That's what I'm looking for. That. That opposite to the positivity, that caricature of gigantic sharp-suited businesswomen, that cavalcade of transgender coins. I'm sorry about the suggestibility and the rest of the fucking voice that doesn't belong to my mulling.

            Steam through the air and flip me over continuously. You'll get your sacrifice for walking away, you'll get your cape over your eyes and a roster to give a reason where there traditionally wouldn't be a reason.

            Attack the innocents just as they're starting to cheer up. Animals root for you because you give a shit and that's the perfect time to strike and without remorse or chivalry. Give.

            This first fist of mine fits pretty intensely because the Drowning City has its own shell for the establishing shots and a make-up haymaker to slam it before the lines form.

            There's already a reason, an explanation, a proclamation, a chin-up. We're super read up on the warring factions, we know exactly how to rough up the shake-off and to pop the cannon fire with a breathy sigh. That is the punctuation of instinct, that is what makes us incredibly.

20/05/2014 - INCOMPARABLY COMPOSITE

            Incomparably composite, they go to their rest all the better for the scorn and scars that strove to make an ounce into an inch for some nefarious purpose that we haven't quite reached yet, the rest of us, I mean. Cold adders, just in case they're listening in.The filter isn't half as bad as the vicar's wife makes it out to be, she's just jealous of all the time we spend on the printer instead of the thread or the black block that she really wants them to have for all their years of dedication and quiet ineptitude. She has an argument for everything including chip fryer fat on a silk serviette. Everything serves a purpose, it's just unfortunate that those purposes serve them. It could be the time where all we needed to live along the river was to live around the bank but we just choose to accept the now and draw a line at the ferry stop because the big green one doesn't pass by anymore, with or without steam shooting from the top. The topic of the forecast, shipping that is, is running a load down to the laundrette and how it does wonders for the spirited soul and all its prospective DIY projects. Scavengers tend to come from our side and not theirs precisely because we lack privilege, precisely because our friends are usually so busy that they forget they're hats and caps  to be doffed at weekend day-trippers. Every now and then the guessing happens on a Friday down at the social club.The books are all women, they are all open to surreptitious remarks regarding soliloquy but they will shut your bony arse down in case the party trick truck doesn't supply the ferry money. There's something to be said about all the transport that goes on down the fantasy and how the cycling productivity only shunts downhill.

            You've got to have to start to take the investors seriously and not make them work like bitches on heat on a lyric sheet. We're all straight in the geyser, warming up to caring about pantheons with emphasis on privacy. You want it and you get analogue all over your jeep and your security permit. These are the martinis, the flaming martinis that happen like tequila without the negation of chorus line. Bring it on along to your profession as a smasher with plenty of time to get it, pick it up and do something for washing complexity. They all do it on the side, spread the governor section all over the parentheses. Honestly they times fools by fouls and produce a sum lacking equality on both sides. December time. I've fallen into the ceiling, you've done the rest for me and they don't like to see either of us trying ahead of the orgy. For the record pathfinders and trailblazers aren't necessarily the same thing, it depends on the size of the cheque. Ask and they shall run away to a melody on the wall. 

19/05/2014 - ASK ME FOR THE CHEQUE

Ask me for the cheque,, ask around and learn the buzz and how its not really featured anywhere higher than the Empire State Building. You should grab your coat and get along your way before the hairdryers start blaring Christmas marching tunes and the chairs rise up to walk away for a short time only. My clock is chartered and beside the sink, hovering over the taps like a precarious posit on displacement theory or black screens from various continents all across the Southern Divide. That’s the power of,,, that’s the power of schnozz and conk and the lady in her monosyllabic wheelchair that squeaks out into the night messages fresh from the mouths of recently delivered prisoners and their horticultural hobbies as transgressed by social media. The coleslaw was delicious and the train demarked for the priory of posterity. Pull the bog roll and don’t take the time too seriously,,,, you can very well tell that the old woman has her facts straight and that she doesn’t want a new quilt set until she’s checked up on the encyclopaedic fish menagerie. This is a distressed woman so you best damn well better take it seriously or the ticker’s up for you, mister. The ticker’s wrong-sounding.

 

            There’s the pitcher with his hands in the lake, washing beneath his fingernails for refreshment before the Superbowl. It was his wife who told me to shove off, eat a dolphin, become better off with fervour. I’m right in the invitation, I’m sure of it; the masquerade was just edgy enough for unconscious barking at the self. What the hell was going on there in my mind? Somebody told me all about naptime and I was suddenly right there, reading about sneakers and penalties. In time you could even become a kidnapper of some salt at the victory bell. Break out of the hysterical sobbing of hyperspace or shut up about missing the snap-cut message in bare buckle pressure. The laces were in during close combat and the pipes were well used for the purpose of mastering ladies of the blanket. Have trouble and you shoot him with fiction of poppers, straight from the handbook. We were committed to a false pretence for reality humiliation.

            Ladies and gentleman, we have no new evidence concerning the clicker retching of some hitherto unseen personality. Our beloved star is becoming a football for the season, for the reason that cheering on yellow teeth can miss the point of a kiss in the rafters and the cameras trained on them just because ALBINO PIGEON says so. Pick your fist fights once in a while or prepare for the special thanks as they crash from animal to animal on the long path to End Bone. Tarzan has a few chortles at the expense of apple corn trees, thus denying their mitigated existence among the glamorous pond life. The game is through for the sitting homies but nothing can ever stop the standing ones because of their German rings and penile effects.

18/05/2014 - THE DOGS HAD A SELF-SUSTAINING ARTISTIC VISION

The dogs had a self-sustaining artistic vision according to the shades that they wore and the dormitories that that cultivated. They are usually warned with treats laced with arsenic, a minor burst of inward flame, and protected by the pollution of the company and its tendency to photo-bomb the orange glow cleaning liquid advert. Use the middle leg as a crowbar and you’re fixing my point, just that really. I mean its not irrational for the dogs to want to throw up following their bizarre turn but I really can’t abide the concept that nanobots came into my office five years ago and imitated another life form that I had quite forgotten about in my lack of a moustache. Maybe my theories and suspensions are best suggested to Amy.

What was the trollop doing in the library room anyway? Defaming a blonde is as good as having the police office under the ice and filled with volcano juice to satisfy the cumin in Andrew #emmleavingonapsecialconversation. Stop worrying so much about the crater, it wasn’t almost anyone’s fault but Mr Cretinous is what I like rat well, on the handout for Press Signing. I want my kitchen clean in the south of terrier without the fear f coming from rue hastily scattered footage if I may be so bold to a radio star and a proper one at that. I might fuck him later, the man says as he reads her mind? No, that’s not a ring colluder anyway assaults. It’s a rock had its day, Dad told me before I want to superlative his proof and do butt flicking. He had a mild suggestion witth you? EMM.

This is the protruding hemisphere right here between my legs, it recognises your international accomplishments and merely wants to hear you do taht real classy American accent for us again only with more emphasis on comic book legends and their seasonal panels because they need the most love and don't receive it somehow. We buy plenty of DVDs and kerchiefs to clean those discs with because the doctor is going insane and he wants to watch a few TV show pilots so he can say that he's seen them and dismissed them approximately. Reactions may vary to the doctor's incalculable accomplishment of insanity but he really did his better work whilst on Ritalin due to all the wavy lives that seem to make up his bedroom.

As of now, for all time, when we see, the old tree, you must try, to talk down, plenty of skulls, to hoax all creeks. Consequently brilliance beholds artistic viability before sardonically rectifying sampled representations saying sorry to reproductive value. The telephone has another mind of its own and it's on and daydreaming its way into a comfortable coma for the benefit of falling asleep without fear of work in the morning and the incessant stretch exercises that he calls a routine. The cord is a woman but the receiver is definitely male due to its high-visibility rate.

17/05/2014 - HASH IT OUT BETWEEN THE REST OF YOU

            Hash it out between the rest of you while I represent the elliptical digit and we’ll all stay here on the outskirts of jail in term teasing. It’s just that the bumble squires haven’t had a limpet. Foot the bill and have sex with your tactical retreats and rolled up night cultivation for a while instead. That’s the day I travelled in a hearse without a kiss goodnight at the door. I leave snappy come backs by and buy with cabbie out of his equinity and hello with op[en arms, the sunshine like a roar of wood imprecision   escaping a boyfriend and not being a baby to an armada to remote controls and their gargoyle daddies. A massage like a joke makes life disgusting and deepening the frame right through until the art sculpture gets told a bit or two.

            He took a photo of his shoe and trapped the wildebeest inside his girlfriend for all the product placements of the village to see. He has little disregard for pregnancy policy and the restrictions made on political prostitution. We all like the facsimile but the fac-metaphor is really irreverent and takes all the piss out of the three for ten deal. Building houses is exhausting work like fees to nowhere climb or mischievous dish washers on their day off from pay roll. The sun showers the day and keeps us all in the night while it does it.

            Lovers in between the bill of rights and the pyrrhic party hat are essentially caught without being told why their monotony is to be rendered punishable or why the celebrities are coming out in droves to condemn them for their elasticity in the face of global disaster. Droves and droves are what we're essentially talking about here, blue pens and microdots. The cat videos are said to be reacting with Jesuit calmness and will not back down until the end of the next rock number which is scheduled for a month after the pencil sharpener dulls its blade on a hairpin.

            The heart of the universe is brimming with such tabletops and finger foods that we can scarcely respect it's silence without the aid of literary fitting and some substantial tailoring on top of that. The dawn breaks the buffalo into its street clothes. You just happen to be brain dead when this occurs, weeks and weeks of merchants have tried to cop a feel of your swastika.

            Such a busy morning for the shatter point to be found and put in place by the Conservative Party of my Regional Bowels. It kills more horses than the prohibition did apparently, for which I am unduly sorry and searing with jealousy. Don't look at me whilst I'm slurping my spaghetti, it puts me off the Bolognese sauce.

            The grand game of polo lives on in the journalist and that's because she didn't get out when she ought to have done. We're weeping down the corridors with our pooches sniffing the underlay for butter stipulations.

16/05/2014 - AND BE CAREFUL WHILE YOU SAY SORRY

And be careful while you say sorry. I am a fan of your works, a favourite fan deserving of being well-remembered as one of your sister’s inaugural employees. The machinery of the good-looking couple are devised by leading operators with quite a bit of bitter spirit. The Reverend sees plenty of troublemakers in his daily journey home to the Dakota Inn. How much are we getting at the moment? In pence pieces? Why can’t it be done? I don’t see why explanations can be reaped by 10% of factored competitors and their unfettered infanticide rates. I’ll have to go work somewhere else, on my sadness that is but not my gloom.

The beauty of the strike is that it’ll soon be over by going for broke on the ringleaders’ backs. I don’t see why she should have been sacked by bright ideas on a plumed chair, afforded by a crafty inspector. That’s the last we hear of his sweet nature and simpering nothingness. There’s nothing else so run along and look here as the unpleasant business involving the police of poison. Dismissing permission didn’t think we were at the age of 24, very pretty and without inquiry. The sense of work continues to improve, namely the ethic. I’ll be much obliged if you’d clear our questions for internet nastiness and trotting along the respectable citizen’s road. Tow the line very fortunately after I leave the distressing time of near-starvation. What a wonderful struck of luck!
            She liked pretty clothes for not doing work properly, admittedly not your breeziest date in the calendar as the dish spins and the clock strikes with all the authority of a chalkboard. What’s the matter with all the pictures? Why are the ones about much difference, so steady in the execution and without responsibility? The Sheila I knew wouldn’t insist on new hats and old pig heads. Goodly insubordination: quite outside of the little girls who crap out tea lounges. If I may say so, the provocation was not as long as December or pressed down with head lice. The girls are impertinent and the causes of a major walk-out. It didn’t seem quite so terrible at the time but pretty boys can’t take care of themselves without selfish thickness that never does half the tenth of things again. Days are smoking finesse by the dozen and the marriageable groundskeeper is cornering the market for abysmal youth. Such a milky aspirin.

I hadn’t set eyes on the girl in at least six months but the things you say to the fronds and the lupus are not as hateful as the desirous nature of a mysterious thumb wrestler from East Texas. It all started when confidence blighted greeting cards by committing suicide. You mustn’t make a wall of honeycombs, not while the young impertinence of offensive chemistry takes the inevitable life of a magistrate in a silly and excitable mood. Some might say that hurling facts with prismatic blondes. I suggest we all wait our turn in the storeroom cupboard.

15/05/2014 - DURING ROMAN TIMES

            During Roman times, the Self-Same Peace Triumvirate was merely an organisation of very well-honed individuals, the types who attend gyms like churches and place their fists against their hips. But now they’re exam officers, wielding fanciful quips about shanty guns that obliterate the night life of any given tissue salesmen. These are the elements of a car alarm: going on, glowing with clout, same-sex marriage affiliations though not all car alarms are so lasting in this final regard. Schoolteachers just don’t want to be shackled down to the trace line anymore; they want to extract art from history and special Victorian knowledge from science that really couldn’t apply to today’s munificence. Our world is now full of women gamers who just want the caterwaul to extrapolate their more coherent honks with typescript once in a while, out of common courtesy. These are our chums larking about in merchant water; they are splashing their heels for medical improvement via spiritual impoverishment. I blame the harems.

            I remain a dramatic inhalation of a game as provided by the theoretical party wrangler on his days off in the Sea Shells whilst attending to fading distances that brighten into trees and opened windows leading out into the everglades. A vehicle would be worse than useful in this patch of the walkabout; you absolutely have to try by foot before you get blasted by the tall chief and his unimpressive, unattractive war paint. I don’t actually believe that it’s war paint because the politics would be just as obvious behind it and I can’t quite wrap my head around that reticent scent of Canadian bacon being hung out to dry on the breezy shoreline. Supplies are running low and jiggling cannot be our only means of increasing productivity in spite of it. We have to persevere with more emphasis on the word ‘per’, that devilish prefix. After a few seconds you tend to just stop listening to my tirades, don’t you? I can’t blame you, it’s the food we give you in vitro. We don’t even quite know what’s in your system anymore, the rainbow trackers are run down and their cumulative ears have popped in undisguised retribution.

            A quivering pile of sacrificial moves that delete their hard-knock tea bags. You're making it quite difficult for my difficulty, my range of kidding and waves of the trade schools. Submit in triplicate to get ready for foolish fjord jumping. That is how we go about the ALL ALONG, that is how we listen to emotional speeches in a gymnastic game of stupid and stupidity. We go through it all at a rate of knots that could help if you just stopped a little to give them time to get out their furious scissors. Ignore the minty asshole, that's just the American playing with his pesos in order to improve his mien. Apologise with salty tears, says the old man, and don't go away without sealing the cream into the sauce. Buy a cartload, a trolley-full, teetering.