go on
short fuse hot pants had a headache, she begged for forgiveness, but nobody answered. heiress to a donut fortune, a poor man's fact finding mission. a fraudulent saint, robbing us of our carnality, a distinct possibility, maybe. in this future, coins operate the machinery of dreams. half seen beings sting immensely, their slavish devotion to an unjust cause causes pain and rupturing of the spleen. stay fresh, stay clean, be laminated on linoleum, be free to loosen the bonds that keep you off the street protesting and ingesting fabulous new information while you view fornication on the big screen. i wash my hands clean of the sticky circumstances that entrance rabid fearful watchers of newly developed programming. focused on by groups of idiots rounded up from street corners, the coroners are waiting with baited breath to hone their crafts on bones and aftermaths. the sun exhaled a plume of hot stuff, the ultra hot fluff shooting out of the solar pie. overcooked stellar bodies toppled the reason of weaklings. a lower middle class hopelessly flabbergasted autistic spaz, bathing in a typhoon of cheesy filigree, the top-heavy appliances malfunction like a finely chopped onion they fall apart at the super mart. spring loaded contrivances enhance our vibrant lives with passion plays and guava nectar. the newfound forces explain situations in terms a child could grasp. a moldy bat sculpture settles bets eventually by merely existing. quite perplexing if you think about it, which you won't. you'd rather chew on donuts and oats, a ghoulish countenance enraptures hidden atom smashers and alleviates the gorgeous hillbilly monster's screaming headache. do the right thing for a demon's sake. for the love of meandering and replication, get the dogs away from the bacon before it gets drooled on, that's a cruel sentence, isn't it? a little spittle on your palate, a nervous pale rabbit running to his hole, follow the bunny, don't try anything funny. grow up, sound off, get employed by a boss like a twerp, like a middling middleman in a deal well done, you caress the upturned buns of freshly baked bread to earn your daily allowance. hell, you sure earned it. hell, you just burned it, you burned the bread and the bacon and your head and our nation with lies and slander and pies full of dander, it made us all sick, we're allergic, we have a bad reaction, it's not a good impression, you're now fired and under house arrest, you're the one we detest, you failed the test, you're as good as a household pest. dressed for a successful class reunion, usurped by a clearly superior creation, useless for practical use, practically nude in the eyes of the pope, saliva drips in ropes from open mouths, gathering in a pool on the ground. our sound will surround the capitol building and the noodling will be supreme in elegance and in deed. word, my message was seen and appreciated by all involved parties, time to have a celebratory dance and bonfire after i retire from public speaking. i'm bequeathing my immense wealth to the people that gave me any help in my noble quest for an out of reach goal. a sad preventable consequence is an entertaining notion for the dregs of society and the bad side of me, but a better thing to aspire to would be to perspire dew, drops of sweat bead after physical activity which nullifies the conscious thought of a criminal mastermind. the mean spirited individual's mind is made up, but his thought process is short circuited, his bad attitude eliminated and electrocuted with a powerful sublime shock to his systematic betrayal of societal laws. the ground up remnants of civility's flesh are dropped from open jaws. don't mock the problematic desires brought forth by the unwashed, justify some improbable optimism and kindness in exchange for applause. don't lose the battle, the war is always fought. the battlefield is fraught with the mines of explosive rage and disinterested yawns. the strangers, not paying attention to people worthy of respect, neglect their own lives in exchange for knives stabbing into their cold hearts. tearing and ripping at swollen glands is a discipline that's gaining traction in subversive circles, the drainage of bad blood from strong hearts and hearty healthy imps that sprint to the finish line of life's achievement seem to scream the worth of even a social ant. a tiny, awkward, alienated mongrel digging ditches and knitting in spare time unwinds every day with inane video and ample time in pillows. these fellows are unobstructed by the justice they are serving, they're on the autobahn of life, swerving at excessive speed, they follow a homemade philosophy that allows such actions to occur. in fact, this behavior seems to spur on the ongoing liquid locomotion that drives others to some form of obsessive devotion to inanimate concepts and pointless artificial objects. this silliness is aided by creativity in the form of chance, and a conversational dance. with any luck, renegades with shiny blades will eradicate the maiden names of women in parliament. heaven sent, these repellent dudes successfully breed with the ruling class, creating a new construct out of colored paper, they savor the flavor of the dirty deeds that were needed, and heeded, by the outcast denizens of the holy roller coaster we call western civilization.