After that night, I wondered if monkeys wanted to write this instead, or maybe just fuck the type of person that would read stuff aloud in a subway toilet. I'd much rather have a good wank and a cool fan to be on the safe side, obviously. Amiright?
Typing monkeys just masturbate furiously and shit gets done- outside the box and inside too, wiggling in goo: Rasetsu and you fighting the flu, what champs do- ain't that true.
The story begins: The end. Earlier, Rasetsu changed her plane of reality into a sphere of indefinite topology- AFTER the fall, BEFORE the rise, BETWEEN us all, a hidden secret which I despise. Alex hates secrets with passionate desire, and likewise secretions, but not deletions. Relight my fire.
That was when a monstrous whale decided to leave the safe haven, and fly up into the depths of the universe, stopping off at my house for bagels and coffee. But whales need love, too. Whales wail in Wales, and Scotland too. The prince of Wales, wailed, then bailed on his whale and said, "Which way is the sail of Wales?" and went off the rails, to walk trails on his tail.
Saw a snail, went to jail. Got some mail from a whale, ruined by hail: reading comprehension fail. Listening to Always, weird Jimmy entered. So I left school to become a professional grammar hammer. Nailing bad grammar users to large blocks of a wooden pad.
Walls made of big juicy balls of meat. Metaphorically. It was human to question the reality of chocolate in the context of the context of postmodernist cuisine. We could never find Waldorf. Where was that little innocent creature? He made my panties crunchy, yet firm. Metaphorically speaking. However, edible panties are the next best, not a thing textured and sweet, the smell of peat is very pleasant to a peasant with a pheasant.
My birthday present was a barbiturate in a fit, less is more in the door. The sperm wiggled metaphorically. So then did the jiggle all the way, or just halfway? Caught in the middle, it'll riddle like the devil fiddlin' the fiddle while the spittle sizzled in the middle as it dribbled and rippled across the fiddle he whittled.
His brains were crushed into grains of dusht, so he huffed and he puffed and he blew the giant cock for what must have been hours. Hours spent blowing and also plowing and sowing the seed doing the damn thang. So he came up gurgling the stew , burbling the few while chewing two cheeks of chew; yellow lives matter, yellow matter custard found in clusters in harlot's dusters, dripping from a hole in the dead dog's eyes eating yellow snow.
Elementary penguin singing, "My country 'tis of wee, covered ever so gracefully in green fuck and sticky goo, and you, too." Where am I? In Pocatello, Idaho? Ruidoso New Mexico? A mini-van? Van Allen Belt? It felt svelte. The Bible Belt? Belting christmas songs? Three word sentences? Mannheim streamroller fan? Or four word thinking? Who knows?
The anus transformer, Rectimus Prime, finally coming out, but all ass-backwards after the celebration at my mom's. Two words Exian? Pooping and weeping or swoopingly sweeping soothes the thinking when heavily drinking with jesus lord of the flies.
Kelvin heating the water to boil, shouting. "Tea time!"
Set out the cucumber sandwiches and swiggity swooty booty, cue cumbersome canswiches. So thirsty, where’s the Sunny Delight? My magical soda was made of wonderful seismic flapjacks and honey and bratwurst sausage .
Then I went on a bender. It was great for unwinding my great personality and stinky socks. I rather do love some smelly socks in my breakfast, especially when cleaned, and properly ironed. I’m stocking cereal, wurst and chocolate in my base, also known as my mother’s basement, where I keep all of my evil intentions and burnt Hot Pockets and also drugs. In short: everything that I own. Plus some other things, not mine.
Rotting assorted garbage. I have stolen ideas and inspirations for these lines, because fuck copyright and hail the Stealing Society! I, as honorary president, have decided that I am god. No scratch that, I’m the coolest most gorgousest, most bestest and in most cases the indisputably awesomest lord of all the universe and everything in it, and pizza too.
My enormous protruberance left a mark on my head. “Stop it Norman!” “What the fuck,” the head replied. Things got weird. I spanked it. My armoured codpiece, became all flowery, metaphorically speaking, naturally.
“My codpiece quivering “ your mother replied. “Quit playing with your codpiece! That’s my spastic urethra I’m fingering there!” Rama rama hare, rama Krishna hare, Vishnu Schmisnu, anways, let shmeditation begin: man you should schmeditate with me. Kicking Edgar Allan Poe’s Calico Queen opened a wormhole into my self-esteem which was mostly losting steam while I am the universe itself but you, you are saying I don’t get ninja’d all the time because I was first and foremost a time bending eggman. Furthermore, my significant was 5% less than previously indicated; this was because history tends to rinse and repeat, or rewrite itself, whenever the occasion favoured “the master”.