Forever is the same in any direction.
When I pass on, I expect jokes at my expense, you know, break the ice. Bonus points for tying in Cause of, “Who Mountain Unicycles … at night … next to a nuclear power plant … without shin guards?”
Dead seriously rebellious donkeylips to the very end.
Elle Raymond
Nobody’s going to cry when unmemorable chumps refuse to shake hands, and deservedly so—fully grown humans, not best friends. Just remember that, hippo’s, before crucifying one of the greats—NOT this season though!
Championship rest fred vogel. Championship rest.
J.C.? I mean, I’d shake the dude’s hand.
Often, people aren’t sure how they feel about something or someone until they are told how they feel—the tongue wagging cretin of Hunter S. antagony.
Back when, when the hounds began a’ barking, a compassionate young healer was strung up on a cross for bloodlust.
Sickened, Herbert’s Grandfather took in the young healer and nurtured him back to life.
In the 1950’s, a time reminisced on as innocent, collective barking turned a fire hose on blacks and knuckles to a woman’s cheek (an admitted step up from stoning or drowning). It’s worth mentioning that gays had yet to be invented.
Sickened, Herbert’s father took in the blacks and women and nurtured them back to life.
Today, although a foolproof way to prevent future sinners, when remnants of baby boomers begin a’ buzzing, homosexuals and abortionites get dragged by their genitalia behind pickup trucks that future homosexuals and abortionites might take and ferment and be dragged behind future F-150’s for sport. And rape-ees should have worn longer shorts that day.
Sickened, Herbert takes in homosexuals and would be abortionites and nurtures them back to life.
In the future, thanks to vast information sharing, collective thinking makes way for ultimate Truths, and murderous Greed is weeded out to die alone in dank cells.
Sickened, Herbert Jr … wait, Herbert will adopt. Won’t justify bringing something into a world where he or she might be crucified to appease the masses need for cake and eating it. —A little girl, and she’s just a hair dresser, and she’s on a smoke break.
Elle Raymond
Zuckerberg finally got the girl with the dragon tatoo.
Get your nipps ripped off lecturing a masochist on the merits of do unto others.
Gonna catch that lip on a trip wire Danny Granger.
Without a dog in the fight, I can tell you it won’t be San Antonio. Whether burning out or peaking too soon (or two many balding Europeans), it’s going to be lightning and Thunder out west ;)
word-bond. Or you can punch me in the willemdafoe.
For the loser now will be later to win. Oh the times.
Surely one’s sexual preference is no more of a choice than my aversion to someone hollering 1-8-7 with their dick in my mouth. (Dre creeping to the mic like a phantom.)
Even Venus tasted salty whence he overshot the Moon :(
Forging ahead, this many years. Blunting yourself on disappointments until even the spoons pass for edgy. Steeling the mind with cages, not as punishment, but to keep them out—a last line of defense. But you’re weary now, if you don’t know it. Tell yourself it’ll pass, that a healing man needs his rest, but you’re building a life out of rem sleep.
Tucked-in, opened-toed kakhis— I hate them. Blonde haired, masculine agendas—HATE THEM ALL!
I don’t even want to do the dance that allows for comfortable pleasantries, let alone hold your hand. And lack of awareness leaves little room for empathies.
Also didn’t want 9-Eleven’s or well-to-dos donning Darfur … did I?
More and more convinced that hell is just an unwillingness to hold hands.
Call me crazy. Then
Call a minority.
Call an ambulance.
Call it self-defense.
Call it Life, then …
Call it a night.
Elle Raymond
