Thursday, December 9, 2010


Swan sulfur, kicked up by the lake after the meteor’s pounce.
We won’t be having a good holiday on the lethal perimeter.
There are too many coffins beaching themselves and our little
schnauzer will be disturbed. Send us a Confucian holiday card –
our memories won’t auto-erase when his sculptural finger
has strolled over to add another hit number to ‘The
Greatest Moments in Frisking.’

It won’t happen.

I might with all this confusion going on rebrand myself as
The Army of the Willow Tree – alien dishonor is overdue, I’ve
got several dozen fridge dial interpretations right here, so my
shit’s backed up. We’re coming with the Moscow Monobrow
to trap a warrior in a barbershop.

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