The tips of a short silence in The Simpsons leave
daredevil scratches also in darkness, whose basis
is at the center of our reality. I am told that I can
fuck off - on the eBay hotline on the open road,
where alien heads boast the peep arc of caustic
single men disguising wearable astrology tech
in weedwacker brands. I'd rather Google now, girl -
than in the hereafter indulge in pharmaceutical
grilled cheese staked to a bloody taser at angles of
the Lord's whirlwind skrillex in the lush iron lung
interior's Kodak "hi sweetie" noise atlas. In a nightmare,
IT yoga guy Gavin Rossdale in the fossil apparel of
AIDS cop bonanza hero juxtaposed a flaccid, used
viper with the steroid appurtenances of a cyborg Kong
in artist rendering of VR plant veiled fashionably
in insect Clippy Scissorhands metaphor.
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