02/15/26
A tick on the Internet
|  Dromediaryby Violet Tiara   October 18, 2004 Long and hairy luminaries
hang from the sky and dangle scary fingers downward in repose just itching to twitch and pick my nose. Prescient crescents— the cartoon moons fill the sky to seven deep with beauty to cause my golden weep as I burp softly in my sleep. Luminous cumulous clouds form a shroud around "Downtown" Julie Brown who just stopped by to make a sound like a grandfather clock winding down. The night is lacquered on my crackers a taste familiar to midnight snackers the milk is sweetly, sickly sour when filtered through the midnight hour. The juice is ruthless as my sweet tooth is not satisfied by fried rice pies this milky morsel's second course is touched by meat from hobby horses. Deaf angels sing out of key on my balcony as Mr T tells me to breathe through the button hole in my sleeve. Song birds sing the wrong words with breath that smells like dog turds as long herds of banisters race the staircase twisting down to infamy. Breezy curtains swing ruining everything as my hair blows up a goat's nose and I rose to piss like a fire hose. Quote of the Day“Don't run if you can walk. Don't walk if you can stand. Don't stand if you can sit. Don't sit if you can lie down. Don't like down if you can sleep. Don't sleep if you can be put into a medically induced coma. Don't be put into a medically induced coma if you can kick back in an iron lung and have machines shit for you. Don't do any of that if golf is on TV.”-Lazy Larry Lisbaine Fortune 500 CookieYou're gonna die this week. Sorry we couldn't put a more clever spin on that. In the meantime, try pouring sugar on your cereal instead of milk. Fuck it, what's anybody gonna do about it now? If it's any consolation, almost everyone in the world doesn't know you're alive anyway. This week's lucky coffin models: Dirt Rocket III, Econo-Sarcophagus Jr, The Spruce Moose, Office Max Moving Box Model 223117, The Bobsled to Hell, Spring-Loaded Jokester's Delight, Seventh Generation Biodegradable Grandma Sack, foot locker in your ex-boyfriend's closet.Try again later. Top 5 commune Features This Week
 Ray Manatino's Half-Remembered Classics Jack Sprat could eat no fat but his wife was a big fat bitch. Shit could she eat, she ate all my beets and my pickled pig's feets. Next week poker's at your house, Jack. The itsy, bitsy, spider crawled up the water spout. I almost fucking died,... (9/20/04) Whistlepig Loud and sweet, the howling of the whistlepig erects my nipples like sails taut in the wind. Sailfish taught me to win by cheating at cards, like a cardinal at charms or an oriole with arms. Whistlepig, whistlepig, let me in, caught by... (8/23/04) I Am the Girl From Nantucket Since I believe my good name and hometown have been slandered long enough, I've endeavored to best (and hopefully replace) the famous ribald limerick that has dogged my earthly days. Stand back and smell the magic: There once was a... (6/28/04)            |
Reproduction in hole or in parts without permission is likely to piss off her dad big time.