random weirdnesss - there might be a plot bunny somewhere
the BRANE has eaten my sense of spell - so I will inflict homophones on the world at large
half the time today they don't even manage homophony
I have this half-born half-plot half-bunny in my head.
Today: bad and making little sense
It was practically a rider - something like rock and roll and rhopynol - they were the wolf pack of two, terrorising the links and wearing out the celluloid like it was going out of fashion.
Some other time: this is glomping on my hard disk (in a txt phile - hence interesting paragraphing) and is definitely related to the bunny that produced today's strangeness
Wolf Pack of Two
The only pack Callum had thought of doing was slow death wrapped in celophane, which is the standard response
to the Canadian television actor demographic. Just look at Paul, perfect lips wrapped around a cancer stick
as he explained the finer fucking points of being loved by every grandmother between here and Sasketchwan and
how he could give up any time he liked it... it was just the Red/Green guys reminded him of the time when he'd
blown up a shed on his parents' horse ranch in Alberta, where he...
And Callum had thought that the windswept street corner of clean-air excile would attract a better class of people
than the fawning press vultures and intellectual pundits talking about last year's Stratford, which would have
been... Paul. Wondering what to do by now and how soon could he make his gettaway or whether he should take his
chances and hide behind the potted palm. He'd always been kind of skinny even when the money was American and
only a brief sujourn to the links got rid of any unwanted moral fibre. Like he had much already. He. Was. A...
"Canadian Actor" Callum looked around to see Hugh leaning up against the wall and the brick snatched at every
fibre of Hugh's tailored pure-wool suit in an almost-fashionable style. In the amber-lit darkness of downtown
Vancouver on a Wednesday night, Callum's half-wrecked eyes couldn't make it out but was pretty sure the cufflinks
were FUCK and YOU. An outside chance on LOVE and HAT - Hugh's dyslexia caused some very strange incidents when it
came to rock'n'roll riders, the obscene and the obscure. Never let him near a typewriter unless you feel pretty
sure that he wouldn't get high sniffing the white-out. That was one thing Callum loved about Hugh,
the man of a thousand vices. Never quite the same, even if he had retired the old faithfuls - hopefully, homicide
and suicide and heroin shooting - he always had something new and it was always cool, gnomesane?
half the time today they don't even manage homophony
I have this half-born half-plot half-bunny in my head.
Today: bad and making little sense
It was practically a rider - something like rock and roll and rhopynol - they were the wolf pack of two, terrorising the links and wearing out the celluloid like it was going out of fashion.
Some other time: this is glomping on my hard disk (in a txt phile - hence interesting paragraphing) and is definitely related to the bunny that produced today's strangeness
Wolf Pack of Two
The only pack Callum had thought of doing was slow death wrapped in celophane, which is the standard response
to the Canadian television actor demographic. Just look at Paul, perfect lips wrapped around a cancer stick
as he explained the finer fucking points of being loved by every grandmother between here and Sasketchwan and
how he could give up any time he liked it... it was just the Red/Green guys reminded him of the time when he'd
blown up a shed on his parents' horse ranch in Alberta, where he...
And Callum had thought that the windswept street corner of clean-air excile would attract a better class of people
than the fawning press vultures and intellectual pundits talking about last year's Stratford, which would have
been... Paul. Wondering what to do by now and how soon could he make his gettaway or whether he should take his
chances and hide behind the potted palm. He'd always been kind of skinny even when the money was American and
only a brief sujourn to the links got rid of any unwanted moral fibre. Like he had much already. He. Was. A...
"Canadian Actor" Callum looked around to see Hugh leaning up against the wall and the brick snatched at every
fibre of Hugh's tailored pure-wool suit in an almost-fashionable style. In the amber-lit darkness of downtown
Vancouver on a Wednesday night, Callum's half-wrecked eyes couldn't make it out but was pretty sure the cufflinks
were FUCK and YOU. An outside chance on LOVE and HAT - Hugh's dyslexia caused some very strange incidents when it
came to rock'n'roll riders, the obscene and the obscure. Never let him near a typewriter unless you feel pretty
sure that he wouldn't get high sniffing the white-out. That was one thing Callum loved about Hugh,
the man of a thousand vices. Never quite the same, even if he had retired the old faithfuls - hopefully, homicide
and suicide and heroin shooting - he always had something new and it was always cool, gnomesane?