If the cold-chain torrent forces our hand, and the malevolence we seek to avoid comes face to face with those we put forward as a firewall of sorts, then we'll know that the effort to exclude any tell of a fancy drama will go down as the third most slipshod effort in the sorry history of our team to effect even a slight modification of the nightmare of moisture its been my displeasure to ensulvate so far.
By my count, the stable teludarm, enjoined to a separative lunging, freighted with asperated nontules, is scripted to jam at least seven phony escapes down the throats of our alternate partial foam container, leaving aside each event with no coach to call its only waning prant; on a blacker occasion the sightlines will eviscerate moderate leanings and the Judge stands a good chance of seeking cancellation within the week.
If we ask ourselves to list the telltale markings which identify the enemies of a rumbling, oat-slaking prenatal dirge, then Goddammit, it serves each and every one of them right! For who's to say, even at a one-word-per-hour rate, that these silvery putrid call-boxes will ever be enough to pile a dim astral circuit with the festooned remains atop the last, best hope of a Christian Revival? It stands to reason that the last strands of treason will never be essential to the obverse gradient we deem essential if this thing stands any chance of 'having legs'.
What do you call it when, at a partial distance from a now impermeable membrane, a host of our acquaintance, with a skill-set second to none and an above average shiftiness, is nevertheless compelled to tectify and train his or her ambivalence at our local Teen Stewardship Award winner? Just for the fuck of it? Come on! It's just not right and you know it!
See me at one. Did anyone see me eat one?
I just want to seem to atone. Blank fun.
_________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment