patinate is to acquire or become covered in a patina.

the penny patinas.

I aspire to margretinate. to marinate in her sauces.

our relationship shall mature thru the rigors of prostitution.

the Master/Slave paradox.

whose turn to clean the terlit? please don't clean yourself with my socks. I am hungry for new ideas.
suspend the dress from your ears.

New Age recipes calling for prosciutto:
John Madden's rigorous 3-star bolognie sandwich
turkeydog in a bog with bamboo-fed fingertips
prosciutto toast
handholding-on-a-stick with red velvet cake and a glass of prosciutto au gratin

Hulk Hogan comfort soup
with cheesy bread (only 310 calories!)

purchasing spree with the Wesleyans

comments about about their dance steps.

the P-Diddy bobby socks brigayde, mostly overpaid. congratulations to p-diddly and the BS Brigayde for their three Grammy noms!

every poop you take, that is da bomb!
every move you make.

son, son, your mother is callin’ you and she’s not callin’ you no child of hers. she makes a helicopter departure.

Cucurbita Pepo and four reasons to pay too much for your next alligator.

bobby socks went out with the baby and the bath water. the classiest bath water. Pier One counter poon, way too young.

mister P-Diddy what do you do when your brigayde steps in deep doodoo wearing
socks sir?

yeah I sound stiff at the edges.

I often flex at the elbows while moving thru traffic.
I can move fluid.

famous names ending with "-robust":
Chef D. Juan Nutt-Robust

inventor of the sex sandwich
Dame Ella Hawkins-Robust-Swinney

invented a marriage to a millionaire
Fred Dowell Chrobusta

quality control at a chocolate laxative factory
MC (Howard Carter) Robustamove

will soon legally change his name back to Howard,

then get the tits with the money he’s saved

- Gabriel DeMarcos de los Mantas in an address to a steamed up bathroom mirror
three weeks prior to his assassination by the librarian's assistant for the
Front for a Provisional al-Qaeda (the Satin Turks)

Pepo “Pattypan” Calabaza calling for President Pesque los Ojos on line 3. let’s talk shop.

let’s shoot groundhogs with bullets the size of our pinkies.

I once dated a woman with pinkies the size of nipples.

I’m so bad, that’s why the ladies call me Mr. Speed.

roast gumption and a tossed carraway-seed salad
topped with a vinagrette and the label
from a t-shirt.

martillo-fisted and hell bent for hooker conversation.

my alligator-skin girlfriend.

a barge of baby diapers bound for korea. the film studios, the Japanese business

faces freakin’

Bermuda on eight bucks a day

and two household products you’ll sit in for days.

a classmate, Elizabeth (name withheld to prevent a vendetta) of Brookline, cannot eat her
coniglio in peperonata either
cannot eat her
cannot coniglio 

in peperonata either
cannotwould not could not
of Brooklineshop the Foodliner

cannot
and no wonder.

it’s all about the Alexanders.

and the last meal.

She couldnt eat turkey until she was twenty. she has also never
dumped a sink trap into the trash nor set foot out of the house without

first checking her hair.

check your rear view. check your hair. now, slowly, firmly,
back over the family dog.

aspirating Blue’s clues.

i’m no tofu. no meat substitute.

she passed me a note under the desk: "the crust recipe from hell!"
the recipe for a crust from hell, I muttered. I shifted in my
chair. there are times a man could go for a (little) littering. for a lifetime

achievement award. for a tetradactylous

bread-baking whore with painted nails and painted house all

paid for. corncob crust meringue pie dance moves. smooth

and grapey granny. you got the receptive misconceptions of a third base coach

who understands nothing but triangles.

triangle butts. squeezed into Sal Pinks pants. her gular solo.

a splitting headache. and the thing
about don cornelius, who had
died from overdose of helium. or was that
cornelius swarthout? no, he invented the waffle, she said showing me
the spot on her shoulder where her brastrap had cut into her skin, severing her arm
which now dangled lifelessly over a stack of textbooks. "Can I borrow that?" I asked, pointing
to a rabbit-eared copy of a the original Sony Trinitron 15". "Solid state, eh?" I laughed.
"It's Chinese," she answered, "like my husband."

Bill Cornelius was a bushranger.
so was John Mathers and also Bob Greenhill.
"Don't meet a lot of women-folk out 'ere," said Bill to John and Bob.
they all just chuckled and kept on bushranging.

dressed in a blue volkswagen, jolly monte pringle arrived each evening (this was nightschool) a
smile on his pessimism and arms laden with fish, the absolutely freshest vegetables at the lowest prices, and various meats.
karen carpenter was his favorite student. she always sat right at the foot of his battered
desk. when she stood to demonstrate the method for folding egg whites into
landscapes, I could see down her chimney. there was a nest in there. and it contained
eggs.

yeah, I hear stuff. but I dont much eat chutney.

it’s a shame one cant learn to fold napkins at the red cross.

buried my face in her artichoke fold.

gain weight and lose money @ home or
continue this charade:

(purely addenda, a purile sax cadenza and rubbernecking at its best)

She wont eat lobster unless it's turned
upside down so she
can’t see the eyes.

unless he's buying.

wont drink.

wont drink unless.

wouldnt dare say anything less.

could care less.
and it shows.

the expressive

caressive

nose.

folks.

the steady stare.

upside down AND inside out.

cant think of his name.

something con carne.

tawdry toenails.

date from a can.

fish eyes,

remarkable,

without toes, and hammer fisted.

La Mirada Peculiar, patron saint of the PT boat.

a rescue mission to retrieve the veil of

courage.

sopapillas and the lunchroom ladies who make

themhosted by fred durst.

rubbing corn starch into your armpits cures

hepatitis, the long form.

http://www.badboyonline.com/

“Mr. Speed” by Sean Delaney/Paul Stanley

My twin was crushed by forceps

cure font problems

Dio belongs
in the front row of the photo


The Bowlbrusher
The Bowlbrusher
The Bowlbrusher