WHITEOUT

Unlike most people, I actually like our local grocery store's

association with offal. Couldn't get the plague mobile

so my feet cured themselves on rakes. I also like

Bed and Breakfasts. I'll check with friends if double-sided

adhesive tape is similar in outline to how I make my bed.

DIY stands for reinforced spore, because we're creating.

Full rotation of the switch passes unexpectedly beyond

spastic lemon. Survival by going limp in your arms.

Quite antithetical to its usual, odd lotus. Before inception.

Before the pump added such a horrible style to yoga.

A relic of tie-dye medical bills goats into a lover's knot.

Cautionary slush: what a good shit functions as.

Neutral, then paranoid. Then promptly enfolding hell!

The hunter had fallen for a diorama of Bambis

reverse-engineered from chemical yawning,

like a supercomputer throwing up a motherfucking beach

from low grade tea optics. During this interlude, he

said, I shall excuse myself in the most offensive – but viable –

manner; I shall turn off the street lamp to uglify it and

everything in its path, every half or overdeveloped mosquitomoth

on its mind. Don't you like your local natural history museums

natural, son? I.e. unencumbered by the usual plasticity?

Then you'll love the Loch Ness monster as he's actually just

a 10 gallon tank, missing a cap. Are you disenchanted by your

local car wash? Who would you most readily obscure with

whiteout?