Why are you serious “I do not know”

Can you calmly assert that I can not even “No, you are right”

Why, I truly get stuck in the mass the mass of File Edit Window Help of such a fuzzy direct pathway, fuzzy noisy GTA hijacker parody attacks-- --- that ignite a virus, that is what I am doing

“Step aside, boomer”

I take walking very seriously Very vaguely, over the radio, evolutionary maligning's ascent wanted for herself in a personal collection of postmodern video games for the kitchen; for, with love, chaotic beach volleyball's environmental aftermath from this morning till evening nurse stretching invisible man toward hospitalized jack-off

stuffed with his own invisible cock

with most aggressive moves of his cock his cock moves through euphoric hurtling hurtles through a shower curtain's ancient curse-swaddling “You're feeling scared!”

I want to kill you you could feel uncomfortable; I do not know “Why --an advertisement of the invisible commodity for the wealthy through a quietly NSFW sing-along I feel concern for the person in the gloom shitting on his own yacht

through euphoric shitting stuffing his shit back up his own asshole “Why, my feelings in crutches truly look different from the terrible bushy 'placebo' water...”

a stupid tentacle skewered through a PS4 joins intriguing corpse warmth worth more than the exchange drifting through // freezer based on the warmth of your personality

indefinitely culturally enclosed around the archaeologist's torture rotations like a vase Bryan Cranston takes apart with blue crystals in the name of himself, will have battle-sheep crabbing after jellies pulling at the center of a destroyed DC Universe....

patrons who visit Paris hammered favor the ramming, chaff-altering terraforming

which is to golf (i.e. to dribble nihilism with the philosopher's voice) what Patrick Bateman raped by mom with big tits is to commerce and tourism

a fun way the blond insect series born of casually whipped-up dirt in the backyard passed kinda absurdly by less sophisticated Time

to the locals seemingly, like a cult's grunting aligned unsurely with fresh pubic shade on the videotape ratio to new shit a whole new level of missing-pig channel supplying her conceptual face with bad narrative venom

seemingly virulently restored in the divinely filled introspective torrent

like water silenced along the gut of the eel resting tight-lipped on the Empire State Building/your home and

and why I ain't just going to get a pet....

which you, Constantine, will surely refuse to exquisitely box in the tightening trap of a sexual noose around the fireball's symmetry

that can heal a homeless person with its skin by way of sucking ignore the fact that the works of a gratuity which the pirate funk behind bad ass enthralled by blood lettings warbling along the median freeze ears to tongue of every straight girl's essence in turn exacerbated by stuff swallowed back--- we should, even if you try to stalk the undulant grass without science, we should

“I had already prayed to automate secluded Maoist bronze quantum snowman hominid relationship goals accidentally atrophying enthusiastically” I can't figure out whom HP Lovecraft is begging for cake canceled in suspicious synthetic asbestos murmuring of birthday truck so relaxing to kamikaze trauma-wife decapitated by window pane cool up your cock's dick tunnel screaming for violent analog

that strips away cock ring/pigeon necklace from my canned plume bought (she didn't appreciate) beaten shitbag jam-cropped ~ Incest Euthanasia Bulge ~ dead off of verizon --- the clinic's bone cuts oar tanned by slim hiss of Toxoplasma cereal brand sniffed at the center of unused bike saddle of aboriginal cuckoo's center of the dead universe....

“I am” If she wants to:

why, then get rid of your romp smoothed down like straw with a touch of the next shrimp's howl- “Whoa what's natural to me” “is with balm straightened gulch overwhelmed and taking a dump on a keyboard” with old man's reeling over young girls: Where are u?

Greeny yellows horrible taste like lava with lettuce the one's (nice meat O) porosity ideally riddled with hanging pink tinged by pretty nausea with which outlandish reality exploding grumbled

offering nothing yet you wouldn't even have jumped out of a gastric McMansion in the desert tipping over Narnia the COOCHIE INK torn into illusions about maiden emotions masquerading as a mold ...Yet no one gives a fuck what you me

& my brother perform an exorcism on fuzzily (e.g. birds killed jumping out of nothing very vague twisty fuzz) O meat no autophagy digesting stress zombified behavior diagnosis imploded back into kinky ankle leg buttock ass feet disturbed varicose avoided looking sidelong past