Thursday, May 27, 2010


Icelandic bitch says she saw the ghost of Abraham Lincoln walk through the shower curtain, no reserves, like he was still president or some shit. Well guess what, Slobzilla, I was abducted by a flying saucer shaped like the White House, and now I have the stamina to get from point A to point B in pie eating contests all over the goddamn ether. Meanwhile, while we're on the topic of birth defects, you sir have a Pikachu mouth that makes me wish I had saved my master ball. I through that trap at a tin can.

Red Jasper is known to protect against hazards of the night . . . but not hazardous nights in the round, you know. And even so, this kind of magic works in slow motion. Like there's a storm over Tulsa, and the high is 84, and the low is 63, and it won't be until Wednesday that it'll rain. And you'll notice, on Wednesday, that it's a little windier out. And the headlines will go something like, "Meth Lab Fire", "Church Tragedy". It just feels like nighttime where you can't see nothin'. Dazzed, man.

There is a severe lack of integrity humming behind the TV eye. Even the fat man with the local forecast. And the meth lab explosion story they saved for next-to-last. American Robin, the species, sits outside and thinks the TV eye is a magic mirror. Right you are, sir.

Nothing. I hardly mean it, but NOTHING. Tangle maze. Gimme a "T", gimme an, uh, "R", gimme uh . . . mumbled up clean slate, straightened. I thought I met you, angel. So unlike you to forget. Close your tired eyes and seek the red jasper path to tomorrow. Peace.

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