Monday, June 13, 2011


No one had told her that the inspiration behind the design of
the loveseat she was sitting on with her husband was the stalking,
determined attitude of a geriatric frogman climbing walls.
Disillusionment: marmalade cratered by a beige, knurled
palate cleanser. Sharted shotgun silly putty - how its gait quickly
evolved into a humanoid nunchaku. The actress slobbering on candlelight
marked the genesis of the first cheekbone. Nearby, a wedding DJ not
widely known, his resonance a jeweled smolder. His thoughts of
brain-damaged coleslaw. Her beer can unencumbered by wild hair.
But sporting a demonic cell phone holster. Flea semen bathing in
candlelight was the body of an ill-fated vibe. Hey, was that
one of the Goonies over there – absently patting the butt of his
embryo keychain? Said of the cubed restaurant's infamous fondues:
said of the detritus remembered and sort of jammed in gastronomic lore.
Only with the cool type of autism could one fiddle a Swiss Army knife's
fish bones into position and, with stunning grace, aid in
the corpse of a smelly, sun-bleached puppet's re-animation. 

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