Wood Chipper II

Soothing crop circles, tucked in. Gems on Craigslist, fingered by a dick. Door latches melted by a meowed curse. Ethereal yellow rock, a product of jerking off. The ounce of brown sharknado metastasizing in a wood chipper. Buzzing human remains murking the coroner's piano key teeth. Cum on the convenience store floor mapped in valencies of protruding stegosaurus bellybutton. A sandwich breaks apart as shiny suckers emblazon smiles into it. Shitfaced suicide teleports dirt. Haunted haystacks slough watercolors.  

Draper Dildo

Since it can't be stapled down, Donald Draper throws trojan starterghost – aka afterbirth – afoul of the unphysical doll. Menstruation retards beauty in crude home videos. We're sharing everything nailed – composite retro prosthetics, petrified fu manchu, greasy finger marks. Taking a shit at work half asleep restricts movement of the ass-face's evergreen lead head, as if the end of the stepladder Draper falls off of, numbed raking windows, in the nightmare intro, casually and eerily suddenly only halfway puckers, but further jet-propelling dream-sequences ... An exotic dildo impersonates a stiff mechanism of some sort, which doesn't have a face. Mothman shrink-wraps moth dust then romances it, moth dandruff, farming the shit until it short-circuits. Dust most easily falling off of halloween plants, in confusing reflections, and off of anything else I, Betty Bumfuck, can humanly think of. The Mogwai has to be moved around a lot before slotting in, but Wilhelm-screams like a girl, which is hot? I suppose? Teases him (and me?) like double-sided adhesive tape, vacant waffle, bulb cramp, diarrhea puddles in teethmarks, a toxin.

Skin Earth

Unearthed skin and the lurching e-cigarette. A green black hole levitating text. Lovecraftian cum on the wedding trowel. Karate aliens enema-ing to eternal bliss. Action figures and the alchemy of eBook McNuggets; cosplay muffled, warts and all-you-can-eat. Ejaculating Coke on an umbrella from smiling, two-faced test tubes, causing cataracts of math. Forklifting an ancient civilization. Unseemly clawing. Brain-dead rabbit. Hat full of Satanic zoo. Piss axis stop-motion brooming, and the ensuing muffin-prism. Bricks of purple, nightmare smoke; real meat. Stem-cell nymph, to scale. Satyr-chugs, without arms. 

Sleep-Cranking

Fields of pantyhose glitch meaningfully.

An image of Betty White and her stygian posse

momentarily nullifies Hell. Badbreath

cowlicks rugburn on wigs. A centipede

creeps gurgling into catnip, spine-paddles

ruffled, gouging an iron lung. I crank in

my sleep. Toasters erratically goop in my

crank-dreams. Motherfucking antennas

against a misty background etc. In this world,

placid antics act as social buffers.

Stephen Hawking talks like the devil.

Dry-humping drainpipes invokes

the body of a feather, which fills

a tub with occult equations. After a major judder,

there's goblin shit everywhere. The asphalt

gets psychedelic cancer, a behavioral costume

made in the act of consuming one's twin

in the womb; of stimulating spiders

in a van; massaging vase water.  

Tastes Human

Quantum mechanics unknot a cop's weird innermost jaw. A razor floats in the tank's fuckable cranial chocolate. “I look like a violent model,” the cop says. “Crusher of criminality. Curator of unspeakable, breathing material.” The evolution of random leaks in the tank's event horizon into dark underground clouds, farty pornographic headaches impregnated by dead things. Like a clubbed mother asteroid, a baby seal plays dead in traffic's organic wave-forms. Decrepit shelves fall away in Minecraft as spoons cluster-kiss the grave's double slit. On the holodeck, a human taste rips through lifelike sculptures; i.e. from a ruptured diva exits an orange, negative Bartman with smug tits and patchy beard; i.e. Riker's cartoon muscles spit black blood into this sweetened UFO, himself. And OkCupid nudges another pushpin into Frankenstein's monster, even though he's jacking off to Flickr.  

Bus Flowers

In the Leviathan's library, dreamt up from sentient syllables, a bioluminescent Angel of Death underpins our solar system's arcade queef. Underpins our planet's faucet-buzz. The curiosity of freely associating with lasers in the bathroom mirror's lunar sac. Of mnemonic balls' typhoid-neuron hinging on a curious green screen. Operatic horror-stick chooses its own adventure through MRI vagina's pop-up omnipresence. Bothers infinity. Projectile vomits on a bus. Caught in anomalous slime-crimes. The ghost's exoskeleton passing a giant bird's cock-hole on primordial skis.  

William Tell's Cumsock

Sock shooting by William Tell.

The sock's chin as visual aid.

Hoarding ugly bones.

A gun poking a sock.

A yesterday-worn woolen sock.

A creaking, leathery,

cogwheeled, grandfather-clock

sock. Steampunk towel.

A tarantula-legged Hilter-headed sock puppet.

Ahahaha.

Sad.

Sometimes the sock's forehead.

Sometimes above the sock's forehead.

FAP FAP FAP FAP

Sock aura screengrabbed

in a gnawed-off curdle.

Sock-faced, sexysauce trickletool.

Almost impossible to miss

at this range/angle. A sock

crushed by an empty wolf.

Leveraging the sock's ass to –

AAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!