Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Slang

Bonus buttons. Pre-post my ghost notes. A whip-like word warrior is running you down the beach, hot peach on the creature featch. A rarefied resource, polished poison-pill parlimentary tactics, you cringe on the sofa, saving the best for last and racies like maizies, crisscrossing contaminated cuniformularities, combinitorial outliers, astonishing though it may be, not a nullity nexeplexes any other night or abaloney pine-covered dustpack, tear-jerked around the town for formula or ornery expatriots. Their bare hair, breaks like a waterfall, mean pauls, eggshells, and happy helping of whatever we got left in the bridge, making over the page a silent counterrage. We got the croppduster dreamer, breathing on the steamer, cooking crispy milk to the tune-time telelogue of a million meger themers. Bringing the bread, by the boiler room makeshift, a fake blinking cursor on the egalitarian eagles reconstituted astronaut resume links the ramshakle answer that we never were looking for to the moon the sky and the six broken flies, like grand opera openning the earth with her scythe, tumbling road turnips throught the creaking ebber's high, we calculate, canabularate, accreate the acetate, pouring on the mayhem by the Aberdheenian twilight. A twill-coated load-mouth, fudging every through-back, beathing through the water a webnetted rainfloat, cancers the calling card carrying soupstarter to appropriate the blank-slate, recharged iron hate like a trial-run kangaroos institutionalized sermon-tie garage band.
No body carreens to the careful demise, a last ditch metaphor for a standard reprise, while mad monkey mechanics, a modder's paradise, erase estuaries, establishment pies. The abacus enters, completely unknown, demystifies andrews and complicates lives. Blockading the subject, rejecting the lies, the llemur demands a radical congregation for the unenduring apoptosis of metalogical spies: the eschatology in racecar drivers dual laudations is none other than the familiar archabstraction of salvation as binary acrostic, cunning absolute, neandrathalic apology, and barristers empty arrangment of alchoholics' shoes. Your toenails are hopped, the cranberries' fouled, and mightily making its ambrosiac fold is the folate approbate, capital sold, arriving by canaries on anchovie hold, to wish by proxy or uncleared, overdue books for the wizening whitecaps to wash over the bold unimportant correspondences with a bee's sneeze, sez vou plaise, and while we're at, demarket the orangensaft and any predictable effects that have been recommished or adomishingly handed over beyond their best before dating practices best conscribed to the military or any other sport. Ecuminical monkees reinforce, notice devorce, agronomy of sorts, nigh sighted arround the auror's effluviant, greek theater cupcake, or top tauist's retreat.
There's a running for the money that the Rowing Oaks won't find. My bet is the mad declention of the fifth favourited line. When we were requisting by serendipitous spite, the accumulated tolls of the entertainers last rite, I bleeped out the periodical compiled by the bedside to remember uncertianly with only candlelight, the necessarily ordinary requistioners blight. Norbert is not amused. But he will be.

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