Huh?
I renounce.
Friend or enemy?
A place “where there is no darkness?”
Huh?
Since thee Chump’s ketches run low, mizzen-masted abominations, out of the thick, cloudy dregs at a barrel’s wake chucked overboard, you should stand at attention. Stay attached to your “telescreen!”
Havoc ensues if thee goat’s thrash goes unslaked.
Dada-daddy sometimes looks like Big Brother—no eascape—he’s always watching you.
Are you a recidivist? A lemon exiting a household on fire, occasionally writing on wallpapers graffitied by cherubim?
Are you gaffe-gobbler bragging of decathlons you fixed—the outcome certain to pay-off big in your favor?
If so, you are a randy gobbler! A paperweight sorbet raider whose neighbors have elided to the Ministry of Love.
As disincentives go, the best I can offer is The Wicker Mandible and a general lack of cohesion and sense. Choose!
All is:
A. aleatory and atonal
B. detritus and straightjacketed
C. eggheaded and folkloric
(you must choose one pair from the above)
There isn’t a trace of a muse within 63 leagues of the epicenter.
Fend for yourself. Forget. Endure.
For I am (probably) naughty.
What I’m Reading:
“I used my first and middle name to be
remembered. My last name belonged
to a deadbeat dad.”
— Emanuel Xavier / “Old Pro”
thee istsfor manity reader 