Saturday, January 8, 2011


Grocery store puke is boss. Smells like what the cloistered wear. I’m so much better than you. A controversy which is not a great name for a goat, rather a controversy which is sunny side up. Center of attention. Tree rings imitated my slogans. What legroom is left for anybody else on earth is filled with the inaccuracies of castration. If ever I left my wallet in the car, it would cry out to me in the voice of James Earl Jones for my return. Getting nuked would equal an uneventful seizure to me. I have many funny names for getting nuked. And for getting laid.

corruption contest WON BY LOVE
on a quest for nexus of PANTY LINER
pussy chapstick CHAIN-SMOKING
heathens jostled BY THE UNSPEAKABLE
girl with pigtails has been ON TO ME

Throughout recorded history, several times the sad tale of the technician has come up. He wanted to design a clean machine. Cleaning products came back in business almost at the same time his machine was placed, with much fanfare, on every street corner. The irony of this is still lost on historians. The words spoken to the Indian next to whom he awoke the next morning are lost to historians. Wikileaks has it. They’re quite prepared to release it to the public. ‘I condone oases,’ the Indian, with his morning breath, spoke to the technician’s cheek. ‘So do I!’ the technician cried, sitting up. ‘I have been saved from the doctrine.’ ‘I have also been saved by the doctrine.’ ‘FROM the doctrine. FROM the doctrine.’ ‘So have I! So have I!’ ‘You ignorant tit,’ said the Indian, and turned over and began snoring. The technician recorded his snores. This recording, like the irony of the embattled clean machine, though quite lost to history, is not lost to us.

We cater to the hunted. Call us at 0800-5556655. Ask for Jenny.

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