Pitch this with a quickness. The tongues of night are pre-feathered. The Amish have glowing foreskins that keep them warm through winter. I take a bath outside in a old rusted out tub, everyone who drives by can see me and it gives me an erection. I stand up to rinse off, pouring water to melt all the soap away, a stream of water dripping off of my naked penis, it's good to be naked, makes the important parts tingle. The special parts. Bitter cold and still the world churns with malice. How many of us will live to see the spring, how many will wish they hadn't. I'm peeing on the street facing traffic, waving merrily to the most outraged looking passers-by. In your face.
The vehicle of the dead crushes down the street a massive rectangle of painted black. Wrapped gifts are tied to mailboxes by long ribbons, the gifts flap in the strong winds.
Brine shrimp nuggets, a nice smokey flavor. It takes about two hundred and fifty of em to make just one bite sized nugget. Brine eyes are a special delicacy, the eyes of thousands of brine shrimp are grinded into a caviar like paste.
Always assume the worst, and hang on to this thought even when things turn out to be o k , never accept that things are o k, no way. Panic is the first and only recourse.
Lets drift through the street meat. Lets market a vegetable matter car kit, runs on onions.
Oh the Lords of Bacon, with their pork swords and shield gourds. These lords, these lords, when board they surfboard in a river of cherry milk.
I'm draining the lord, draining the sword, draining the pain that flows through the fyord.
Fake furs line the walls of time, furs made of veggie parts. Sunken brine for all time. Sunken money dripping of of my honey, below where we go, below below.
Carrot creations, some have thin reedy legs to move to water with, what will they think of next? Valvoline made from celery, and it doesn't hurt the ozone. Wow that's neat come over here and spin on my bone bone.
Green love from the bud, bud butter and crispy cannibiss casserole. Better than carnage at the park, last time I went I was almost swallowed by a riot.
Why do they hate freedom? Why don't they wanna eat freedom frys? Why can't I control everything they do, so that they can be truly free?
The hateful hearts of the advanced in the evolutionary process, they interfere with the nice primitive's use of torture of children, will this injustice never end? For firewood that long bitter cold winter we had to use rolled spiderwebs. We would roll and roll them up tight, making web logs that would burn slow and produce an evil heat. Be polite in the dark of night, but be food while stealing baby's food. Some babies are getting mad baby disease now from being fed parts of aborted babys to make them bigger. Bad idea. A better idea is to bomb all the christian churches at exactly eight a m on a sunday and accuse Charlton Heston and Ted Nugent of doing it. Let them take the blame and run out of town before the crowd with the torches catches them. Another bad idea, smoking a fat joint in openly in the parking lot of a police sub station, takes balls, but tends to get one arrested. I'm running down the road in my vegetable pelt, strong and moaning words and poems and wearing nothing at all below the belt. Online suicide. Break out the cherry chains. Burn this whole neighborhood. Peace with the grinicks, feast on them later, after slashing them in their sleep. Smoke at the heart of everything, in the center of the universe it swirls inside a bubble.
Crab cakes and hot chocolate. Reading a book all afternoon, and then sleeping naked under the sunroof's letting in the light of the moon.
Corn cob crab cakes, there by that frozen lake, times is good, fer goodness sakes. I declare feb ten to be misfit day! All misfits get to eat, rent movies, go to the theater all for free! Free eight hours of pay at work, not having to actually show up.
Phone masturbation, it's like phone sex, cept you talk to yourself while jerking it, so it's free. So just bite me, don't fight me, just be polite and bite me, nipple your way to my favorite place, that where I want your face. Bacon marathon, free for all. Get greedy, and eat lots of greasy bacon, till the oils and greases drip down your face, and smile as you chew. So go the Lords of Bacon, go alone and along the river, some are naked, others are fully clothed, but they have their cocks hanging out there open flys, the meat tubes bob about as they go.
U-boat captains for freedom, massive war on truth. No truth , we have freedom, everything is preventable. Street witches, potions of fun. Fantasy of the duck and the dog.
Mask factory, I'm making one for everybody.
Guilt pussy, eat it. Stand like this and piss. Forget it. Ozone on loan, a planet completely fenced off. Love lost among the rocks that the waves clash against. Bring me my horse, I'm out of here. While your at it, bring me a beer. Lip sink to songs that have not been written yet, why not? Guilt is a quilt, woven from your wrongs, abandon all hope, bend down and suck my shlong. Shameless interplay of hair products that eat the ozone to the bone bone.