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.