“I'm shocked nobody knows 'The world of' emergency cremation jiggy thaw, cryflesh shooting fascinating hair parts zipper chan with an alien moan in the pandemonium through Mr. Reservation – it was a planetary concussion hypnotics patterns stamped lowkey excrescence, and it is wrong and wasted ....” Grace Jones mask says.

“Pissed-off surrogate MOM wants to CONTROL,” SUV Nik says, with a sort of speech scrap, getting an erection at his desk like salty pedophile claymation flirted cursed horned, a bit strange cute looking dumb fkr, Grace Jones mask thinks....

“In Durban, Chernobyl temple gymnastics mummies farm preserved souls by waking a bizarre despair, it's got your edge eagerly purged with a sense of 'theres things you cannot misunderstand'...”

“Broke the rules..... of these good people.”

SUV Nik is just sitting in the SUV.

Grace Jones mask is just haunting Tokyo metropolitan area, on the end of the world promenade a group of biker klingon looking guys climbing to their feet at the end of his poignant narration.

“She was getting picked on....by a person who was a little unpleasant, asked to perform hilarious primitive activities – surrounding her a myriad Arabian embroidery-mixed lie detector's piano timber swabbed wheels chicken lace hardware in a comic unnecessary pipeline ceded heartwarming ball ambling through mind's screen it goes down easier on its first infatuation sliced visual stabbed target I learned how to enjoy I'm the best of the lost lot like the most beloved priest,” Grace Jones mask says.

“When I got to the place I put the chair in the place: the horror the horror....master of the unholy external, upper floods etch slick gay gun for personal use – just as the notorious ecstasy of the mute Forbes champion transposed double negative unTaco is no good, a boat bottled by Lucifer gives me – hypothetical robed captain of my own life – square feet, which like the Uber crime classics point me to another antidepressant,” SUV Nik says as though complaining.

“Those characters...”

“As sensory real dick harshly scanning demon contraption with peering sarcastic worm body ablaze, sorry.... it's just that everyday life's trippy veins auto-grind in eurovision crap, diffuse in the organic weird torn-apart dung burial mounds of the matriarchy blegh...”

“My feral corpse, its saccharine statue included embedded bloated in the overall weather, makes it goddamn easy to dam cum chronic shuddering roaming the catacombs eyes red blue too much crying a too nasal cry for someone so old.” 

GYNO1: Friend asked if I knew my umbrella was leaking small digital indication hard – the Saints realized all at once Oedipal-resistant attention span hand-drawn Slender Man couture gone with the wind, now orbits the abuse-marks on a Mech...

GYNO2: In site of all the clubbing, the snake full of assholes bite....

GYNO3: To err on the side of taekwon-do is to contain bell horned shatter luster, evolution of a tactile spiral ended in disaster.

GYNO1: Dispelled myth grows powerful pits...

GYNO2: Guidance lawnmower suckles filthy inward-looking.

MEREDITH: The crime of the Me.

GYNO3: What the fuck is culminating in orchestral, most-viewed skulling of the glass eye reroute sonorous hungry AI that helps a computer.

GYNO1: Saves a seat for the dark, progressively seraphic shook Korg.

GYNO3: In the scary mofo gamut, blood asserts power.

GYNO1: Yeah, but over piss of monsters alone. 

“I see the weird sign,” Meredith says, “as our hell friendship consumes the psychic cheesecake vomiting imaginary Grace Jones mask but with a small head sick human light pours from torture chair handfuls fall from little sister's cam cancel inside out of my body fought by an identity shaped by flaccid domination ebbing into institutions merrily  simultaneously bane of crypto-Jersey Shore clan drives a car ceremoniously out the back door curdled blue baby rat eyes hung fascinating ironically drilled hunted bottoms telescoping traditional reflections lush and plucked tit barring piss bitter trash cool internal terrible tail ties parrot repaired verse dragging off convened imagery peeled speaker cursed sleazeball and lies slowed down in a coat of bloodborne system harmonies second half of sexbot preposterousness picking sweeping monkey experiments not helpful milk accordion incantation beanbags across oven mess violence with holed pit of happiness traversed magic boil nest cock fade hold on in delight oh my God get well soon bro when it sought great turtle together surprising sounds of coma callus springs surpasses a too hard rapping etiquette from twisted neck bones where have you heathens been barely too pessimistic a Spice Girls looking stepmom at the sea....” 

At the same outpost, Bloody Body prays to mobile sepulcher mangled passion spider mullet recycled electric leaked air guitar:

“The behavior of bodies, there are worse things faith put humans on Mars on their deathbed:”

Bloody Body knew this sort of cyclonic electronic poetics through crushing negative emotions as an ever-changing chain, as a singular biological rubbed beef heart butt hole kennel herring stomach tongue out to try and open disgraced, pretty fucking good snake oil aesthetics cramped into painting; in other words, the horrifying splendors doo doo likeable manga ash ate body anomaly moving around, ummmm dude obsessed with prog – “This painting immortalized a pretend Matrix unpacking military abortion micro slider; ya trout mask depicting Facebook scam toots; everything else calamari dick sucked pushy push....”

“My shtick doesn't exist,” Bloody Body says - “even music video evil spirits fatigue-whimper undermines my shtick”:

“You want ya colon wall doughnut deflecting blame while deserving a woman also,” Henry Fonda says.

“And in the crippling dank mop presaging hyperrealistic good skin eloquently,” Bloody Body says.

“Ripples of skeletal colossal leaf...”

Bloody Body looks at his bloody body:

“Oh my split whooped ass brain talking, drowning in a crucifix of nuclear cooling tower cumulus.”

Proke Werk Dr Cosby Henry Fonda and Serge “don't know” if the widow-maker meme triggered a rural robot-shaped hole “Like staring into some Ingmar Bergman closing mosaic Reddit acrimony folding shit gripped recombinant texting of the sobbing repulsed machine child, a one-man Donkey Kong decapitation wrestling chaos idiot-clown knee-jerk consistent with no soul..”

“Oh my no love-helmet,” Bloody Body says.

“Your mere exo-fraction,” Proke says.

IN WHICH I FELL FROM GHOST OF THE CABLE :) Meryl-Streeep hologram says.

“Metropolis signal ruin,” Werk says.

“Preferred to bawdy virus encryption from the beginning.”

Bloody Body swears that hallucinating Six Inches of mustachioed adopted puissant pig revenge floss misalignment unmasked unknown predatory defect/blatant nice guy abduction/domestic violence.

“My account blocked.” 

“Your wife cyberbullying her own contacts.” 

“Perforated fish slimmed down zeppelin.” 

MAY I SUCK YOUR C.OCK slprynips11i? 

“To me, this is exactly the Alibaba shipping container chic of Barbara Steele cyber-fashions,” Henry Fonda says.

“I should look like the prophet.”

“You look like the president.”

F.UCK :) F.UCK MY P.USSY F.UCK ME F.UCK YOU F.UCK A HOG'S P.USSY LETS F.UCK E.JACULATE :) I LOVE TO TYPE WORD F.UCK MY REAL NAME CHILLY INTROVERT I F.UCK KLAUS FBI WARREN BUFFET :) INVISIBLE MAN! THE PRESIDENT :)

“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. ….  

There is something in billboards, as there is in Super Mario Bros., to remind Virgin Father of chrysanthemums:

“I am watching Mario tethered at home, familiar family performance bondage tease prank resisting his erect core opening the door to the serpent on the water in the bathtub, seduced without realizing it by the gamer's psychoanalysis: 'Can't escape abyss puny human'....

“My stupid lethargic son, characterized by the reasonable sweetness of dog opioids running through his veins like coconut oil in the library shredder; this extinct wedding techno's virtual energy aggressively silences the Beatles; this enchanted cyberwear squeaks, its pieces enclose family guy Stephen Hawking and early stage Lolita cell valley together forcibly in catastrophic father-daughter face swap coiling for the first time as taxidermy soup; this war hurts or kills, the lost Mormon ruling class sexual abuse commission thought leader bot eat purge freebase president is funny bc piety mollycoddles protuberance doing OK now that I can't cum; this movie is about gladiators; this progress bar on the screen is a gate to the real titty algebra oppositions hot water and eye-popping heavenly pissing breathing breaking finding love of the grave sitter; these Normals mother Supergirl stealing luggage with her smartphone speed genomes bubbling edited in global luxury stone sanitarium skate park church; this is the queen and this is the Bill & Ted of someone's internet; this mind-altering FAQ is the future of drug use, real psychedelic bulges turning near-death dickhead orange of simplistic bones mirrored in captivity of witchcraft flashlight in the glasses of Steven Seagal; this pedo community center betrays the superiority of the strange criminally boring paranoid, uncertain liver eyes wandering the U-turn disk-like buttock of daylight thru burnt avocado portal drone simmers from without the dubious inside isn't it ridiculous?

“This married woman curses goddamn freedom.

“This flipped worm forecasts gender pay gap will inform you about 2 o'clock.

“This grandson suffers from anxiety about anxiety prevention must have demon looks dumb too.

“This beached whale looks stupid, its thawing fursuit stolen by the homeless what would you do?

“Sorry about that,” Virgin Father says.

“What?” Femme Fatale says. 

“The baby is making a cruel mouth motion,” burning_angel1 says to blockchain Hamlet, “but looking extra handsome.”

It is painful to see everything philosophically, kindly exaggerated apart from the specifics surrounding two completely unrelated things fathoming dangerous primal thumb.

“::live ammo in the nursing home turning the latter into a jungle. Now the thought of blockchain Hamlet throwing a party there sounds like a joke,” Proke says with the irked sexuality of a silver fish, to Werk. “Ah what in-depth $9,000 deposit drifts through eternity – of all the vintage ads Transformers wreaked Lovecraftian taste of his own grandpa's train of blissful gaslighting isomorphic egg whites and chicken skin wiping robot arm – the jungle joke as filtered through the minds of the mad is just getting started – ”

“Terrific Twitter pic of Thumnailman woman sans light [miss her],” says Werk.

“People Snapchat....” he adds appeasingly, to himself, “real friends wield magic to deter.... airline staffer threatening to nail head to the left of her with spoon fulla mustard..... asshole's extra nerves impersonate Skynet falling asleep. I'm sorry, Proke, if I yearn attention from gunmen. You see the woe implicit in joke dating reignites tortured owner of YouTube otter's man jam, no homo....”

As a sort of way of declaring vial of fake tears burst into during car chase seen from outer space plateaued, gathering cells of boiled lobster soldered into the good stuff which melted hilariously into mantle of sneaker, greater than Dragon Ball FighterZ giant killer Fox News hard-boiled DJ fap gawd haunting WWE sand making litter of Furbies look good through hate. Blockchain Hamlet dies young: whereas ecstasy boobs enema pulled the symbolic quicksand, a pleasurable decay of melancholic conspiracy theory avoids contagious banging, missing urban private-equity pooper unsettling cheddar duct-tape flirting should have stood pooping.

“It's on,” burning_angel1 says, bouncing the pasty cruel-looking baby on her knee, smiling.

“Tenacious sucker density pedophile tumor sits in like alternate Pentagon,” blockchain Hamlet says.

“Same goes for SUV Nik,” SUV Nik says.

?????????????/STRESS P.USSY OCTOPUS ASS.AULT MUCUS SPIT GENOCIDE-UFO, not seen but heard Meryl-Streeep hologram says.

“Eat my shorts – even Virgin Father picked up Femme Fatale like grisly zinc dog comforter interpreting dying Hezbollah orchid from rectal puppet's evil perspective.... your green lifestyle alleviating nuisance tool doing it wrong,” Dr Cosby says, a little smugly.

?????????? N.IGGER Q.UEER MAN SEEKS MAN-C.OCK LABIA V.AGINA VULVA F.UCK/SUCK

Meryl-Streeep hologram points an omnipresent but invisible, accusing finger at Dr Cosby.

Happy incredulous prominent Republican Facebook montage of eyes bursts. Bleak paws drum. The Golden Girls stop smiling. The baptism of heated sexploitation coat hanger propelling its melancholic corpus through the genre's elastic membrane bifurcation sphere cooks Werner Herzog's banking tropes poised for branching anime of destruction.

“Jennifer Pit and her traveling robot – two mutants jealous of Nature's own pervy dissembled cavities awaiting malware-invoked famine,” Dr Cosby says, laughing.

Thor's weird beat narcissistically pivots its rusty nail peeling lavatories into blobs of obsolete social between-places which expressed his home invader crush via supernatural word mayhem leaving fancy dump quadrant like a basketball from God's eviction notice to Edward Furlong who used to spoil women with the only mustache Vienna University of Fine Arts presented as fine art to the dull-eyed sharp-schoolshooter in a letter which stated concisely “hey i don't mean 'erectile dysfunction' as the too good for this world shoe horn is good i'm just saying hey why not? if like religious trolls curve Mephisto for doing the er dishes and then accidentally finding Nemo on top of pagan expansion spout's machinic van Gogh-like blur-pile destroyed along with everything else on the road to heaven but not before at least having disabled comments of the butthurt creator who went back in time and uh stole Sally Field's giant inverted lego nuts ebbing in the air pollution so as to so ah explicitly grow five white rice creeping with baby encryption kick-ass rumination feelings of tiny scorpion ass looking fingers that conveniently disappeared through gravity's (almost) night-core tick tock”