.: OLDER SODA TIRES :.
the voluptuous horror of tor johnson
Hola, Murgatroyd! it's milky out.
The reason? Britney Spears
has gone and extinguished Hubble's Variable Nebula with her gaping space-cunt!
It's maddening. She'll
be dousing barred spiral galaxies next by sitting on 'em with that gloppy thing,
and as her hurtle influence weebles past
spacetime's green Phoenician elbow,
racks of piebald photinos will
tatter and natter, together crying
"Britney! leave us! shut
your cosmic corn-hole, with its flapping
napalm tachyon capacitors,
and its potentiometer fan wedgies glowing like a hinge,
for the tamped
lard, God, calls us'n's home & we must 'to da Moon'
or else he'll smudge us with a Turkish
Right? Murgatroyd, relax.
find waldo emerson fittipaldi!
Th' quirky dolls who squawk to me in Urdu
don't like Britney Spears. It
has been a wrong long, all th' long songtimelines. Who was that? stinging
up night's coughed-up sticky walrus' panties,
th' whole fur,
minus star totem weeping chaw pots ... who? Chief
doll of all is bewailing her lost electric "toof,"
like I care
innards white and leprous, sneeching stinxlers
ommit 'n' Emmett,
while th' Bells of Britney semaphore th' time,
kells make the troll
Apt to thank Mordecai Richler for making the mitt
stand anxious, we take hearts from the consonance
of Abzugs. Limit meerschaum strontium palisades
across, lipped perilous outriders of the mumbo team, plea!
where tort Veetids blaze anon, and bleeding Mira slopes
to Death's mouth (gingivitis
was never like this!) beaking reticles hope ouzo forgets where
wheezy tone-poems halve Velveeta. Oh!
that I might wear a crimping apple-hat anon,
and stare, to fluff the pillows of the bosons.
byzantine pistachio faq
My. Corn pine
dollop o' tiny tub o' tin
crania! Milk towels
off heat vortices surprise leaping dream, meters and. What?
Poke. Stews across sky
Im-Ho-Tep, betrayal, my forking paths metallic
dictionary wheedles easels.
That's not all.
Rhine tips clear us. Po
bands' yellow ear
Bend, no? No. Oh
damental ichthyosaur hoops wheel barred spiral
pasta wheels, huh, oh no!
Kukla Kukla Kukla.
bring me the head of big boy
Teriyaki tartar sauce is sauce bereft of pin
smacks! You cannot deny my thirst for blood
pudding rebus toads: why "hi-fi" prune
uppity lemmas swarm athwart the abattoir.
Hell is preening quid pro quo egg noodles,
and "Dairy Queen" globular clusters ripped
from mortar data proto rooter quotas. Ho!
the monitor and the merry-go-round
chromium? Moldy Billy
Dope, hold on.
Wee Bill Doppler, who
miserates my donut gal-ax-ee,
do you tune
that oaken clover up
to hokey hafnium
or, uh, ore? No,
I'm not asking stellatious
crux for you
'gainst the sparklin' of your netheraceous X;
Avast! but there's where
on my hands'
whore. Bill Dote, revere
nil by the great smell of brut
... Spoke to your Uncle Throckmorton, he said
Your delivery of 'The Hoopy Infinite' is late, so look
For it on Shad-Flaw Wednesday, when
He said, that is I -think- it was your Uncle ...
Huh, and not the toaster repairman, 'Dagskjold'
Come to pay a polyp-y visit to ploppy Aunt Maudie.
Who knows? As William Blake said, "It is easier
To forgive an enemy than to
Plate raw damper spades with Dinty Moore foot-peanuts, right?"
Hello, God, it's Me,
Twizzle-Fantoozler-Boy the Third,
Come after my box of shriveled awnings
And mingled pasties. But it's not arrived
Yet, in its cradle of little tamped ear dongles and stirrups,
Or dagnab it I'd've seen 'er!
Do I smell something. The freezer's been left grapeing
By its lonesome in the membrane
Ribit. G'wan. I got tits of raw snow.
galactic macaque wax
Beers are! mutant fart
weiner belies the importance of a, huh, farting
mutant. His weenie
peers behind the beer
tapestry of future
mutants drinking with
their mutating weenies, drinking
beers with them that is.
Weird. Penny. Meanie
innards thinking. Dry
meaning, isn't it?
Teaming inner dinars.
I'm in it. Wien. Car
barking. Totality spreads,
spears a jerkin' gherkin workin'
onna coal mien. Faugh!
dirt blandishment with feeble prawn, winking
IQ beef, tears
o' fame wrapped in laughs
o' pork. Yup, thas'
the way. Corn noodle!
Dull peters, pulp wands mired in something ooky.
My soul rocks, cantilever twill in goo, too. Hm.
money, it's a solid
Q: How much wood
Could a woodchuck chuck,
If a woodchuck
could chuck peanuttiest primal apple bear 'twingles'
on a rapt fire-stopple locked nine-iron
of Fate, wrists who embezzled fond Indra,
frappe & keening trombone auric dances,
meat? plus one of those 'meaty'
triskaidekaphobic Phonics sets with edge
of roll'd oats, robe
of odor? or pik-ur-own
'total eclipse of my toejam' Mangos,
knots hawsered to Alley-Oop's
brickle-blue Madagascar oil, inspired
wing-nut collections? not
to mention God's
Zagnut-to-Mallo-Cup connectors (I
really want one)?
Growing large anent entering
the glowworm mouth, Mluh! Mluh!
Growing larger. Who's it been that lawng since glo-
the rototeria, Surprise! bear
atop, the lopped God his slop, I've
gotten so huge lately,
in the glowworm gut glowing louder
and louder. Ooooooeeeee!
panopticon lemur jellies
The doors that hang on whispers
part the wave. The doors that glitter.
I am wincing from a brace of doors
that swing wide open and the night
is there. Hooray. Let's hear it for a door.
Minds climb innocence. It's ending
for the night. Merely stop and hope
the moonlight deepens first - what else
peels faster than a hinge, part
and partial of the door's intention.
While sky pills venous, loam
thuds under, more attributab ...
two dice. Calls, potions, wheels: it is
turning in winds hands, it is
opening or it has to belly 'way
Cap on it.
teriyaki is as d.h. lawrence does
My fake goose Piltdown star-trap
ekes out spectra,
beeping rotini fires aft of crudite
deals, megatons and weenies.
Basque, how to build a better Basque
radical. Surprise, mock daffodil
spar Rogaine, eat my ear before reruns of Love Boat o'ertake
thy goat-skins' dazzle, o thy dazzling goat-hats!
Shantih shanty shoop-a-doop.
tool ratings for free or 50 cents
tout court, cubicular, vroom up
hah! 'n' I cuntfront yr rump agayne, Hieronymette! izzat
panty lines? Or o'er ore the
basket of alembic
tooooooot? I chews
a Feen-a-Melt, a fellaheen, a mean mint panopticon pirate
fort. Caught thurible mention, 'll
galaxies' lactose intolerant
throb in fissile (or missiles' ullulant)
So don't hang round the Y much
harpies! me grapes up 'n' blue purple "glo" 'gainst
my cuntsiderabull chests as it
the rockin' doors of yours, ah ... ah ... thee thy
fizzy pull black under where?