T-minus the time I wake up and don't want to just but a tennis racket up my ass or a bullet in my breakfast cereal diluted gut. Spare me the gutter mouth rag of patronization, a piano out of key with wedded typefaces and implied anger if we felt the backhand of the true matter. Don't fill me with utterly hopeless hands to complete useless tasks.
As if these tasks are to be undertaken without the stress weight of those too heavily pulled down by their bags over their shoulder and their wheelchair infested swamplands. As if I could ever figure anything out and support myself in triumph and excitement. Incite the riot, swamp out the quiet.
Quantum sheep stranglers ought not to deal with the minds of child desk teleportation methods. Surely, their most important alligators deem themselves fit to serve as king for a day, else be bested by tree wiping butt lizards, no?
ReplyDelete-Chris Kolar
Ps: Persefla.
excavated times renewed lingers elegantly against and without realizing tempations. But the spoon travels, does it not? No, it does not herr grimmrott. Feel the putter cut through the butter dripping hazily and disenfranchised daisily through irish sutter....if you want to
ReplyDelete-grahme clipe
treatise on space dust and other hit songs