The infernal spring-pressure of Gotham's pop-up Frankenstein and Silicon Valley's levitating rust and the Bermuda Triangle's throbbing wet gills is a necessary force that pushes like the sand of a Pinterest burial vortex applied on a prone, unprotected area to reach deep comfort in tapeworm-like depravity from any position inside Bowser's sweatpants locked in 90s Quidditch. Do you see. Cats wear helmets when the sky looks like the sky if the sky were the earth's curious haircut or a pretty NASA food mural impaling space with a mesmerizing hate-illusion that doesn't match its own red underlight. Do you see. The real Alice Cooper's strange noises match a good drum machine's strange noises. I'm a thumb-flavored Satan who will probably not deteriorate over time, says time. The Spongebob hordes clean off the sap from, without marking the, skeleton trees of Disney-fracked pussy time-clouds. Monsters force their own diaper-connections to a bacterial religion out of fucking town while becoming less and less receptive to the green gods infesting the gutters of OkCupid like 7-inch pixels that trellis the medical paradise of my chugging computer's interior soap opera like small hard dinosaur penises. Do you see.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Mine melt. Shit whack.
Demon warp. Bed boner.
And nut. Gun hotline.
And bake. Ass bones.
A generic Dungeons & Dragons fruit sharknado.
The mass creature the saddest outbreak welcomes.
I like to make out with Lara Croft.
My monk nipples:
the baddest pyramidal
at the mall.
A clustered creature.
Chickenshit internet feelings;
A one size fits all goliath.
Psychedelic phone sex veneer.Miss World. Wii dangle.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
The cross sprayed with teenage probiotics. Also the HTML Dwarf on its dark squab.
Teal eyebrow of the orangutan cocked. James Franco the pinned Parallel Teddy Bear.
Man, you pull more music from muff, and vice versa, with a disintegrator
than thieves grind projectile sweat, softly, from shut windows.
No, I merely blog about armpits –
ironically, the joie de vivre crackles pterodactylic
like a collect call from the cum cops;
the long cancer seeks a return socket
in the form of an arcade rat massacre.
in the form of an arcade rat massacre.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
The gorilla's third nipple – rather than its dystopian shedding – is it. That is the answer. And being high. Less the apocalyptic KNOB OF THE NIGHT than ... mince, God is the central tree which willingly touches my dead amphibian buttock. Bumper sticker-grim. Repetitive ping-pong with a chemical smell. Grandma exists beneath the visor's rock 'n roll hand. Desert drug transmission-spheres intimately earwax ... hotrod-elusive. The black lips of Dracula stretch loudly. Hookah the demon core's rhinestones couch potato-tacky, like planetarium glitter caking up nubbin-louche; satisfying the psychoanalytic tipping point on the volcano's ribcage. A juggalo peers from behind its devilish, shallow brain aggregate. The cold blast's naturally obscure plug. Malignant proxy piss – silence that impales cold excrement.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
A flash of beige, borg garbage
still haunts the cartoon, ouija meat disaster.
Pee sleep melts hard, ghost murderer.
Steam elephant – with basketball –
the killer radio self constipated
from beyond, where I carve up the body of a jellyfish
and knew the Microsoft moonpolice
and drone turds texting in
dark, cratered handjob rap
feed a contiguous, Samsung buzzcock biomech.
I love the die app, love poop simulator
with a Walmart axe, taco improbably –
anal yoga, scorpion itch.
"App" – the movie.
Friday, July 11, 2014
A permanent disablement option or
setting to leave an unconscious robot fetus
backwards loop on all the nice bits of machine
nurse presence a “storage green” bleep
of occult vintage butts, dirt/foreign body ingress
and interconnected frog leg penis robot
ninja suckers electrode nipple chain
scorched feet to silent infinite clown balls
in an experimental marrying of gangster fuzz
motherboard rubber orbit measured doughnut
blood gulps in rat fuck wizard product fade
tight Tardis headroom output choke and tarantula blood
crust umbrella boing with some harsh ashtray shame bruise
spork doom sour - and making friends in
the actual arbitrary fake snow tight spread Tintin upskirt
narcissist substance wedding vermin
spew over long party cadaver tooth ever since
the bloody human face jamb, eliciting boning
and cyborg nano porno fibers of radioactive
mirror ganglia glare with ninja turtle jug
singularity – then blend enjoying her permanent
3D printed strand of ribbed McDonald's
desiccated screw doll shark skull accelerator
Tool masked with Ernie's dog worm taint
rancid, opaque, coitus demon super particles
scratch love furniture bloody knees of actionfigure.