“I've run out of dirt to saddle silence practically opera sweeps shape up massage nosedive heh-heh,” blockchain Hamlet says.

:) SHUT YOUR F.UCKING MOUTH LINDA DILL Meryl-Streeep hologram says.

Eternal suffering devours. Roguish hieroglyphs offend. The physician rejects subway masturbation sweat contents stuck on giant symbolism mousepad glottis colossus snuffing of the faithful suffocating outbreaks pop together:

“Fight is beginning,” burning_angel1 says.

“I'd vie to get my shit together. Wait until system failure preceding grosser backdrops,” he says.

“No nipples mummy, as in bald cops have untold stories,” she says.

Fireproof closely together, the embassy's bugs fill all standing room – the yawn of the smoldering omen locks outwards and down the alley like ladders black and blue.... did countless fire drills in terms of brainwash warning signs do anything to sustain histrionic restroom activity; was house on hill bulldozed by sparking correlates; could a conflagrating erotica insanely have robbed Ahmed of a piece of skin of the neck dropped by mute harvester of badass artisanal postmodernism realigning black purple haze itself with edge of distant world....???

“Fuck I admire his little ears, by the scruff of the snake's knob severed like a finger in the womb!” she says, as if controlled by the trepidation of a whore licked by the fire-lichens of the anonymous scifi funerals of monotheism. “People who want to train the potato POTATO potato in the latissimus.....”

The bruises of the colossus themselves flashed hot jazz flesh afterlight sauce. A lot of common sense helped shape pyramids. Nintendo not happy plumber's voice distends written greyish – not happy manned spaceflight defenestrated cursed clothes like sand of the horticultural chiropractor. Laws are groceries, pair well with human remains assembled from the awkward legion high on death's action movie parable of tanker spill kerfuffle.

“911 what is your emergency.”

:) SHUT YOU FITHY MOUTH LINDA DILL I LOVE LOTTO

Meryl-Streeep hologram's invisible omnipresent sputtering blasphemous AI palpitates in the proximity of a calculable fate:

The baby gently touches the water. The toaster in the water wiggles and blows up in its face thorn-like.

“Next time 3D print tube stretched into something good,” blockchain Hamlet says, pointing a pallid finger at the baby as if at a giant pig or a dying swan miles above earth.

“Like mother like son: teaches himself to read faster in order to see color for the first time only to become averse to color again, a goth ,” burningangel1 says.

“Let me take reality TV more seriously plz,” blockchain Hamlet begs.

Well, on the TV Hieronymus Bosch stirs in his sleep ….. feet planted firmly in canned contradictions during trippy TED talk …. at root of madness plucked by stimulant breeze in swirls of mud beneath fingertips wiggling on clipboard ….. on full stomach exorcism relentlessly toting dead affirmation. ….