Bantering with Octagons

Butterscotch babies, smooth tongues lustily licking likenesses of zippers while carefully mining many minnows deliciously secreted in vanilla ice cream cones.

If its not vanilla its got be whipped with leather and lace and a smile on your face.

I like pumpkin, with a bit of cinnamon and vanilla on the side.

Circle jerk and turn yourself around! Little fires and hammers dancing like Empire pricks, and you are in the center! Squirt and flirt with Jack the Ripper and the Golden Girls - You could be one of the happy few! You could be a fuck toy too!

fancy boys and fuck toys, what more could a duck want?

why does that make sense to me?

Now we're hammering with asprin! You've got a book, I've got issues! And they are all just a swat team away. Care to share a little spitle with your little gray gardener? Or are you too busy washing the taste of Diet Pepsi out with knives and used toilet paper?

Issuing sharp spare spades to duckies dodging donuts... or are they actually only the realitivisitic meanderings of somewhat sleepy sapiens?

cymbidia said:

Issuing sharp spare spades to duckies dodging donuts... or are they actually only the realitivisitic meanderings of somewhat sleepy sapiens?

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Please?

Head banging kangaroos in the zoos with the blues. Fuck and finger tame, the drunk and lame flying crane with a little pain and orange stain.

You can rhyme too - all it takes is a little car engine oil to slick your throat and a swift kick in the balls.

I'll stick with the rouge of my dreams for, as every one knows, fiber is good for your being. We can be heroes betwitched with the words of your song..

Henry Ford pounding out seven-grain biscuits in Salem, Mass.

Magazine Fucked, that is a crystal revelation. Without which gland to you hit the wall and slide up like a dump truck on acid.

Ah - mothers milk.

Girls should not waste powder on lobsters, lest wasp wings flicker at the periphery of their crumbling ochre wastrels, but the short sharp shock of lycra in the teeth of the restless beast will oft negate the need for a somersaulting scrimshaw proboscis.

Ah! Smiling, twirling, gloriously whirling powdery bits of miasma residue filters meaning from electronic impulses. Again.

FUCKERS!!! For Unlucky Carrion Keepers Entering Rectums. Eye've got the last fist and it's looking for the last I. Eye can't go on like this - too much spinich.

Yams. And beets. Lots of beets. I am immortal, you know.

Prick prick prick prick give it a lick lick lick lick and hope a pound of books by Steven King and the Dalai Lama doesn't fall on your head. You've got a clue? Well I've got a feet so lets hit the street and see if we can't build a brand new religion on smelly fish and the people who piss on them.

Dillinger said:

Yams. And beets. Lots of beets. I am immortal, you know.

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Got Weed?

Wet canvas suppurates in the springtime of our elastic fever-suckled daydreams, but sometimes gossamer pinecones outwit even the loftiest lubrication, especially in the Hour of Mildewed Pubescence... go ahead, ask your groundhog what sauce HE prefers when his thorax is stained with the blood of the sentient beet!

Butterscotch babies covered in honey then rolled in softly spoken magazine powder to make them aware of the Queen of Hearts whom all alone sings your songs of mice and heroes dancing in the moor.

The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.
The idiots here just say the same things again and again.

Work work work, little april showers. Drumbeats of the many outwit the thin brittle thimbles of the divine happenstance; however, under no circumstances should your yellow horns ever come in contact with the soft white undercarriage of the Powers that Bewilder.

~only in the dreaming~

The creature swung her gaze around..stepping through the magick TV… into a different World filled with colored spheres, various bubbles containing extraordinary secrets only the lighter ones would or could ever reveal.

Reaching up to touch the tender, delicate body of one close…enough for the creature to grapple a grasp..

~POP!~

Here There Be Snapdragons

Pale bladders of light spin merrily about the pulsating bowsprit of the Good Ship Gone Bad, pausing only to ponder the sleek hide of the seeking lynx, disturbing not the idle spectatorship of last resort; rather, sailing to the horizons of purple mounded, sandpapered cucumbers of retribution.

everyone's fisting away
trying to keep up with a pinkfloyd way
try to make some sense of it all
when you've got two big hairy balls.

this ain't working
this ain't play
this ain't flirting
this ain't grey

Hey hey hey

Fat albert.