Does martha stewart use her floor as a shelf?
nothing... talking to a married chick.
take a collective licking, mister/miz etcetera. (generally speaking
too loudly for their store of knowledge, Pete Cetera fans burn slowly,
unevenly. generally but not with genuity.)
what parvo did for my life.
carl: there's no such thing as straight-up pussy. it's always on the rocks.
joan: there's no such thing as silent dick.
they are listening to see if I will appear she confided, clutching a kleenex to her dripping nipple. the couch was very comfortable, sinky, forcing us to rub shoulders. the snacks were stale, put out too early, and the hostess already too drunk. my headache was moving down into a pimple at the tip of my nose. "jump," I encouraged. we stacked all the furniture cushions we could think of and taught the snotty-nosed kids to say "macadamia".
whatre you on? the exchange rate is hardly one-to-one Taiwan yuan. I went to
my happy place: smoking in a donut shop waiting for my girlfriend to call on
the pay phone. what's happening? nothing so far. a moment to have taste
sensations.
former don juan to the captain's table. the final customer of the day, her bedraggled doggy and slit skirt.
anslit prudhomme, change the locks on the envelope drawer. mowers overhead. ca-ching went the cash drawers, zoom-zooming. can I cook? went the daughter, pruning being completed on the beaches in the side yard. sweaty, and heavenly flour. there is work to be done and several things can be called buns. her daughter is mildly retarded. just for fun, downers on the killing floor.
one moment said juan as he placed the folded yuan in the cash drawer. his socks were on backwards.
visibly viable, the photographer put on his trial. found not mocking or admiring. is it work or art?
I hate the smell of frying bacon when I'm smoking in my treetop window at
9:30. makes me wanna go camping / drink warm budweiser / and lookat maps and
I can't.
I hate you, too, by the way. just enough to do some things about it.
passive aggressive with heavy rocks inside.
third semester
top perfume idears (commercials in parentheses):
+ sweater man! (heavy, groomed eyebrows and a pet iguana who
appears to be dead, or at least wilted)
+ silent dicks (minimalism)
+ knot mocking cockney for chums (sells itself – mid-shelf branding)
+ his trial (mutts in judicial robes shitting in bloodshot
ears)
"what are you wearing?"
a smile. and parvo by the Hand of God.
smoking girls
are whores.
the final customer at the bank, an after-hours extra aftershave handshake
come-a-calling, by Hobbs Chino Chang Lowenstein-Barre. "Cha-ching, cha-ching!" lisps the president of the institution thru parted incisors.
having sized up the customer, Ms. Steinblatz fits her perfectly for a loving companion girdle by Merle of Chattauqua. "bada-bing!" chimes in the guy who used to wipe Howard Stern's green pee from the toilet seat.
eventually, everyone dries up in the right lane. or dies trying.
what have I done to my skin?!? ask your poodle for some warm spare change then throw it in reverse.
Merle of Chattauqua is all about him some girdles.
nobody says, "I'm gonna close this
door." they just do it.
a wealth of yesterdays
grow longer, more prehensile thumbs!
search for the
hidden drachen agenda
visit Fern
Frieze Jr.
king of encounter-point