Old people wish they'd stop getting scars from doing [so many goddamned]
crosswords [the whole time]. Did the community do anything to help?
They prayed that the communal vegetable garden would be spared and
eventually the death ray did fuck off. But apart from this,
what else have we done to stop the menace from entering the squares
in the crossword puzzles of the elderly?
Thanks to poor circulation, so many graves are going bad.
They're literally rotting. In so many ways every buzz saw is bad for
the brain cells. They literally start stinking. How many cult members
had to watch and meditate on, and spiritually staunch, the
horror at the core of the 80s instructional video? The lens was attached to
a dangerous fragmentation, stunning and overwhelming, and I
remember bad breath in my neck when told by a gnome-shaped
sibilance in the cathode dark:
“Only one can look through it.”
What, like, the chosen one?
Two thumbs were bubbling in a vat. You had to thump 'em down
really hard, else they'd pinch your nipple. They smelled like dicks
and like my very own dick's transistor, they had been grown in a mold.
The delicious overkill attained in dentistry when they turn one's mouth
into ground beef, evidenced by a woman sitting on the sofa.
“Don't worry. Only a little bit of witchcraft will be used to
extract your suppository.” She had nothing special to add.
When they removed my uncle's hemorrhoid he is rumored to have
gibbered the whole time about the crop circles, asking, “How else did
those alien motherfuckers do them other than with an electric can opener?”
He was also gibbering on about AIDS, even when the doctors
assured him that AIDS enters subliminally, far more subliminally
than this splatterfest, and then only via a frog's nose hairs.