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SKATEBOARDING => Solitary Confinement => Topic started by: Seekskater on February 24, 2010, 09:47:20 PM



Title: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 24, 2010, 09:47:20 PM
 I'm more of a tech skater and I'm looking for an edge with my flip tricks.

Here's the question, is there anything wrong with buying an extremely light board matched with light trucks, maybe even wheels as well? Is there anything negative about it? The more I thought about it, the more I think, why not?
 
Here's what i'm looking at...thanks in advance!
Deck
http://shop.ccs.com/product/model:143096/sku:65-01427/?cm=&supercat=Skate#sku=65-01427&size=7.75
Trucks
http://shop.ccs.com/product/model:131515/sku:61-76161/?cm=&supercat=Skate#sku=65-00928&size=7.75
Wheels
http://shop.ccs.com/product/model:140152/sku:65-00859/?cm=&supercat=Skate


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on February 24, 2010, 09:51:58 PM
FUCK OFF!


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: asdf072 on February 24, 2010, 10:45:16 PM
It's probably the beer, but I just rofl'd


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 24, 2010, 11:22:02 PM
It's probably the beer, but I just rofl'd
At which part? My post or the dude with the monkeys hangin from his sig?

I figured this forum would be pretty much trollsville, thought I'd take my chances and see if there's anyone willing to help.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 24, 2010, 11:30:54 PM
FUCK OFF!
Judging by what you ride in your other posts, it doesn't look like you skate street much, so maybe YOU should fuck off!  ;)


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on February 24, 2010, 11:36:44 PM
FUCK OFF!
Judging by what you ride in your other posts, it doesn't look like you skate street much, so maybe YOU should fuck off!  ;)

I may be drunk right now but in my 35 years of skateboarding I feel I have the right to call you a kook.  Just sayin'


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 24, 2010, 11:55:23 PM
FUCK OFF!
Judging by what you ride in your other posts, it doesn't look like you skate street much, so maybe YOU should fuck off!  ;)

I may be drunk right now but in my 35 years of skateboarding I feel I have the right to call you a kook.  Just sayin'
So what you're really trying to say is...you're a bitter old man? I can't wait untill the day when I hit 35 years of skateboarding so I can log on to some skateboard forums and call someone just trying to get a question answered and get on his way, a poser. Then I can go and buy some viagra so I can get hard and wack off to the monkey's in my sig.
 ::)

Hahaha just kiddin man. But seriously, you're over 40 and you get drunk and rag on people on forums?

Still looking for a serious answer so I can get the fuck out of here and skate.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on February 24, 2010, 11:59:33 PM
Hey fuck.. you asked for "experienced skaters" 35 years is not enough? You're lame.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on February 25, 2010, 12:01:45 AM
And you have the nuts to rag on Dijo? The God of skateboarding. Please don't say you don't know who Dijo is.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: dean on February 25, 2010, 12:52:32 AM
8 years? really?


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 25, 2010, 01:26:06 AM
8 years? really?
That's what I said, but apparently that's what everyone seems to be getting hung up on so I made the original post easier to understand. I'll also rephrase.

Has anyone here used a featherlight board, or lighter trucks? Did you notice a considerable difference in the spin of your flips? Anything negative about them?

Thank you
btw if you have 35 years of "experience", you can troll somewhere else.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Watermelon on February 25, 2010, 01:32:42 AM
8 years? really?
That's what I said, but apparently that's what everyone seems to be getting hung up on so I made the original post easier to understand. I'll also rephrase.

Has anyone here used a featherlight board, or lighter trucks? Did you notice a considerable difference in the spin of your flips? Anything negative about them?

Thank you
btw if you have 35 years of "experience", you can troll somewhere else.

My god are you're blowing it. Will someone give this retard -1 please?


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on February 25, 2010, 01:35:47 AM
8 years? really?
That's what I said, but apparently that's what everyone seems to be getting hung up on so I made the original post easier to understand. I'll also rephrase.

Has anyone here used a featherlight board, or lighter trucks? Did you notice a considerable difference in the spin of your flips? Anything negative about them?

Thank you
btw if you have 35 years of "experience", you can troll somewhere else.

You lame ageist. You're killing skateboarding. 


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Watermelon on February 25, 2010, 01:37:54 AM
8 years? really?
That's what I said, but apparently that's what everyone seems to be getting hung up on so I made the original post easier to understand. I'll also rephrase.

Has anyone here used a featherlight board, or lighter trucks? Did you notice a considerable difference in the spin of your flips? Anything negative about them?

Thank you
btw if you have 35 years of "experience", you can troll somewhere else.

You lame ageist. You're killing skateboarding. 
I can foresee this being the final chapter of skateboarding. Good-bye my dear friend. *sigh*


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on February 25, 2010, 01:44:30 AM
OK I'll play along.. in my 35 years you might try a Powell Per Welinder with Trackers and Bones freestlye.  If you really wanna get tech and win lame jock games of skate you'll ride  the same set up as Primo.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 25, 2010, 01:50:14 AM
8 years? really?
That's what I said, but apparently that's what everyone seems to be getting hung up on so I made the original post easier to understand. I'll also rephrase.

Has anyone here used a featherlight board, or lighter trucks? Did you notice a considerable difference in the spin of your flips? Anything negative about them?

Thank you
btw if you have 35 years of "experience", you can troll somewhere else.

You lame ageist. You're killing skateboarding. 
Nah dude, elitists, jocks, and ryan sheckler are killing skateboarding. My skateboarding anyways.

Elitists like you who have skated so long they are just too high and mighty to give a fellow skater some advice. Jocks with no style coming in and trying to get the biggest jock air possible, when all I really want to see is a no-comply down a 5, or a bert on slab of a concrete. Then there's Ryan Sheckler, don't fucking get me started, he may outskate me 10 times over but fuck if Ryan has any style whatsoever.

^ That's what is killing skateboarding, and you elitist shitheads are just as bad as everything else.  


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Watermelon on February 25, 2010, 01:54:42 AM
You continue to blow it and dig this hole your in deeper. You might as well just give up now.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 25, 2010, 02:01:28 AM
You continue to blow it and dig this hole your in deeper. You might as well just give up now.
Hahaha what? This is a fucking forum 

Like I could give a shit less then whether I "blow it" in front of you guys. I'm actually curious as to what Chuck says though sometimes. He can actually be almost clever. You however are a fucking bore.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on February 25, 2010, 02:03:15 AM
8 years? really?
That's what I said, but apparently that's what everyone seems to be getting hung up on so I made the original post easier to understand. I'll also rephrase.

Has anyone here used a featherlight board, or lighter trucks? Did you notice a considerable difference in the spin of your flips? Anything negative about them?

Thank you
btw if you have 35 years of "experience", you can troll somewhere else.

You lame ageist. You're killing skateboarding. 
Nah dude, elitists, jocks, and ryan sheckler are killing skateboarding. My skateboarding anyways.

Elitists like you who have skated so long they are just too high and mighty to give a fellow skater some advice. Jocks with no style coming in and trying to get the biggest jock air possible, when all I really want to see is a no-comply down a 5, or a bert on slab of a concrete. Then there's Ryan Sheckler, don't fucking get me started, he may outskate me 10 times over but fuck if Ryan has any style whatsoever.

^ That's what is killing skateboarding, and you elitist shitheads are just as bad as everything else.  

Why are the jocks, elitists and Sheckler  killing your skateboarding? If you really skate for you, why does anything other than your skating matter?


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 25, 2010, 02:10:32 AM

Why are the jocks, elitists and Sheckler  killing your skateboarding? If you really skate for you, why does anything other than your skating matter?
As far as i'm concerned, only my skateboarding matters. As far as what's killing skateboarding, well, I just gave you my opinion. Creativity is what does it for me, and that's how I'll always try to skate.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: susej on February 25, 2010, 02:54:50 AM
Chuck had it right from the start.  Blowing it -1 applied.

On a related note, watermelon, you now have the power. 


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: The brycickle on February 25, 2010, 02:58:15 AM

Why are the jocks, elitists and Sheckler  killing your skateboarding? If you really skate for you, why does anything other than your skating matter?
As far as i'm concerned, only my skateboarding matters. As far as what's killing skateboarding, well, I just gave you my opinion. Creativity is what does it for me, and that's how I'll always try to skate.
I'm going to kill skateboading single handedly by shooting it in the fucking face!


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: FedUp on February 25, 2010, 04:05:09 AM
If you want to flip more try kicking your board with more power. Light boards and light trucks and all the gimmicks are just stupid.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Watermelon on February 25, 2010, 05:32:41 AM
On a related note, watermelon, you now have the power. 
I guess 550 is the new count.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Babe, Mr. Ruth if you're Nasty on February 25, 2010, 05:39:59 AM
this is definately the sleep aid talking,

watermleon is heman.

Seekskater blows it, which is a dirty joke in itself.

We're just a bunch of assholes. Chuck's a firefighter, so good luck when you're on fire at a skatepark and chuck is the only one their because chuck would not estinguish you.

I need more sleep. and to not be on a computer.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: killthegnar on February 25, 2010, 06:35:49 AM
Sorry to derail the topic, but dont get that helium deck. its got these weird air pockets that they put the helium in, and the last thing you want in a deck is little holes in it.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: bucky fellini on February 25, 2010, 06:48:01 AM
further to that, in general, don't buy into marketing gimmicks with skate decks. there's a reason that most of those cracked-out ideas continually die and hard rock maple continues to reign supreme.   


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: elastic back on February 25, 2010, 06:58:15 AM
8 years? really?
That's what I said, but apparently that's what everyone seems to be getting hung up on so I made the original post easier to understand. I'll also rephrase.

Has anyone here used a featherlight board, or lighter trucks? Did you notice a considerable difference in the spin of your flips? Anything negative about them?

Thank you
btw if you have 35 years of "experience", you can troll somewhere else.

You lame ageist. You're killing skateboarding. 
Nah dude, elitists, jocks, and ryan sheckler are killing skateboarding. My skateboarding anyways.

Elitists like you who have skated so long they are just too high and mighty to give a fellow skater some advice. Jocks with no style coming in and trying to get the biggest jock air possible, when all I really want to see is a no-comply down a 5, or a bert on slab of a concrete. Then there's Ryan Sheckler, don't fucking get me started, he may outskate me 10 times over but fuck if Ryan has any style whatsoever.

^ That's what is killing skateboarding, and you elitist shitheads are just as bad as everything else.  

you never answered how any of those things are killing skateboarding. i really want to know. you answered why you don't like them, but that has nothing to do with why they are killing skateboarding. continue...

also, while most of the thrasher audience will agree with you not liking sheckler, i think the "no style" argument is outdated. he actually has a pretty good style these days since he has grown bigger than his board. that isn't what people dislike about him.

as for a lighter set up, don't worry about it. the techest skaters out there still ride standard set ups. if you need something to make you think you can do your tricks easier, so be it...most of skateboarding is mental anyway. but realistically, as long as you aren't riding a board over 8.5 and 60+mm wheels, you should be good for tech maneuvers.

We're just a bunch of assholes. Chuck's a firefighter, so good luck when you're on fire at a skatepark and chuck is the only one their because chuck would not estinguish you.

you are mistaken, it is ze rjm that is a firefighter.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: killthegnar on February 25, 2010, 08:21:58 AM
nothing is killing skateboarding... skateboardings been dead for a few months now... don't you remember? skateboardings been dead since before the CCDC days


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Stabby_McShiv on February 25, 2010, 09:54:17 AM
I am experienced and I would be happy to share my enlightment:

Tech boards are shit and absolutely useless over regular maple boards.  Find a shape and size that works for you and you are good to go but, even then, the difference is more a matter of comfort than anything.  If you can do a trick with one board, you'll likely be able to pull the same trick on any reasonably sized board and setup but might not be as comfortable doing it.  In other words, decks aren't performance enhancing but feel free to experiment to find your own preference.

If you want real performance enhancement than you need to focus on  high performance technical wear clothing, that's where huge gains can be made.  I recently purchased a full Under Armor kit that included moisture wicking Lycra/spandex blend socks, shorts,  a sleeveless skin tight shirt and a dew rag.  Now I feel like a fucking hummingbird in the air and don't have to worry about my board getting tangled up in my pants or shirt. The only downside is that every now and again I wake up in an alley stinking of Mad Dog 20/20 with a bump on my head and a torn asshole but that's the price to pay as the ruler of the tech god heavens.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: fuckababiessoftspot123 on February 25, 2010, 10:41:10 AM
a featherlight board is exactly what the name of it is and they snap quick and they are also element so yeah, thats not good. and a few ounce difference between a heavy board and a lighter board really dosent make a difference, your legs should be strong enough to flick any size board if your used to it. except for long boards, but thats another conversation.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: fuckababiessoftspot123 on February 25, 2010, 10:43:14 AM
and that chuck guy, when you turn 21, alcohol should replace internet use you nerd.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Hefeweizen on February 25, 2010, 10:52:05 AM
I was looking at the 300 Thrasher covers poster and I came across one from the early '90s that had a tombstone for skateboarding on the cover. It appears skateboarding is undead.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: christo on February 25, 2010, 01:31:48 PM
i think stabby IS mark twain.  undead of course.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 25, 2010, 02:30:53 PM
@Elastic Black - Sheckler from what I remember, had no creativity, maybe he is different now. But like I told Chuck, no one will kill my skateboarding experience. But somehow, I am killing skateboarding? Please.

@Stabby - I don't know about your last paragraph haha, I definitely don't need a torn asshole. But thanks man, the first thing you said was all I needed. I don't get a chance to try different decks very often so your insight just saved me some money.

@fuckababies - Thanks dude, I didn't realize that shit was a gimmick, they've been making um for awhile now so I thought maybe, just maybe they'd be legit.

Looks like i'll just have to flick harder on the switch flips, or find a different position.   


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: skatenerd on February 25, 2010, 02:36:43 PM
I'm guessing you dudes haven't heard of the Airlight Skytop Vert shoes..


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 25, 2010, 02:41:23 PM
I'm guessing you dudes haven't heard of the Airlight Skytop Vert shoes..
Omg they sound so sexy


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: fuckababiessoftspot123 on February 25, 2010, 05:20:50 PM
if you smoke weed its easier to contemplate things. like doing the same thing you do regular, with the other foot. thus switch flips.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: zeroney on February 25, 2010, 05:25:14 PM
I'm guessing you dudes haven't heard of the Airlight Skytop Vert shoes..
Omg they sound so sexy
they fly you in the sky kanarly airs bro, vert ramp style


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 25, 2010, 08:15:52 PM
if you smoke weed its easier to contemplate things. like doing the same thing you do regular, with the other foot. thus switch flips.
Damn i think that's my problem, I've just been drinking whiskey lately.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: asdf072 on February 25, 2010, 09:48:47 PM
this is definately the sleep aid talking,

watermleon is heman.

Seekskater blows it, which is a dirty joke in itself.

We're just a bunch of assholes. Chuck's a firefighter, so good luck when you're on fire at a skatepark and chuck is the only one their because chuck would not estinguish you.

I need more sleep. and to not be on a computer.

Not a full rofl, but definitely awesome.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: dtotherob on February 26, 2010, 08:09:11 AM
as an experienced skater, i would recommend to not look here.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: susej on February 26, 2010, 08:07:28 PM
as would I.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 26, 2010, 11:21:43 PM


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: bailgun on February 27, 2010, 01:33:45 AM
i have it on very good authority that dtotherob has experienced skateboarding on multiple occasions.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: lateskate on February 27, 2010, 09:54:23 AM

the footage section. you should try it sometime


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on February 27, 2010, 10:57:32 AM

dtotherob could kick your ass in a game of SKATE!


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: dtotherob on February 27, 2010, 02:55:07 PM

take it easy there. all these guys are backing me on this. they've all subscribed to my youtube, watched me lace up my CCDC's, strap on my slingz and mountainboard down to the Berrics for countless games of SKATE.  thanks for the support guys. 



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 27, 2010, 03:24:56 PM

dtotherob could kick your ass in a game of SKATE!
Wait, I thought SKATE was just a jock game Chuck? But yeah he probably could, I don't play SKATE. I occasionally play BEERS, or SHOTS, then at least when I lose I have nice buzz going.   


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 27, 2010, 03:32:47 PM

the footage section. you should try it sometime
I don't feel like going through pages to find some clips of a skater who's probably just playing skate. But if someone wants to enlighten me, link his shit and i'll take a look at some point.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: greengoes_throat on February 27, 2010, 03:40:13 PM
I'm not experienced enough to comment here  :(


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 27, 2010, 03:48:23 PM
I'm not experienced enough to comment here  :(
Don't worry, judging from how the first couple pages turned out, I would change the title of this thread to "Asshole skaters look here!".


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: greengoes_throat on February 27, 2010, 03:56:20 PM
I'm not experienced enough to comment here  :(
Don't worry, judging from how the first couple pages turned out, I would change the title of this thread to "Asshole skaters look here!".

Seriously dude, just get what you want. If you think it will logically be better for your personal way of skating then do it. I don't worry about anything, I just fucking skate.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: dtotherob on February 27, 2010, 04:29:42 PM

the footage section. you should try it sometime
I don't feel like going through pages to find some clips of a skater who's probably just playing skate. But if someone wants to enlighten me, link his shit and i'll take a look at some point.

so you're a selective troll?


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 27, 2010, 05:11:48 PM
I'm not experienced enough to comment here  :(
Don't worry, judging from how the first couple pages turned out, I would change the title of this thread to "Asshole skaters look here!".

Seriously dude, just get what you want. If you think it will logically be better for your personal way of skating then do it. I don't worry about anything, I just fucking skate.
I actually got exactly what I needed from a couple people here. They said featherlight boards are a gimmick and are cheap, it saved me some money. It seemed logical for me to buy a lighter deck but I don't want to be snapping it 1 day in.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 27, 2010, 05:15:22 PM

the footage section. you should try it sometime
I don't feel like going through pages to find some clips of a skater who's probably just playing skate. But if someone wants to enlighten me, link his shit and i'll take a look at some point.

so you're a selective troll?
Nah, just a very lazy forums reader. I looked at the last couple pages in the footage thread and wasn't going to waste any more time with it. 


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: bailgun on February 27, 2010, 06:05:22 PM
why didn't i just lock this when i had the chance?


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: skatenerd on February 27, 2010, 06:56:30 PM
I have another question for you experienced skaters.
Where can I find a Mega-ramp deck? They're pretty rare since the closest mega ramp park is 8 miles away. Shops here only have street and vert decks. CCS doesn't carry them.Can you guys help??


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: elastic back on February 27, 2010, 11:18:37 PM

dtotherob could kick your ass in a game of SKATE!
Wait, I thought SKATE was just a jock game Chuck? But yeah he probably could, I don't play SKATE. I occasionally play BEERS, or SHOTS, then at least when I lose I have nice buzz going.   

it was sarcasm.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 28, 2010, 09:57:08 AM
why didn't i just lock this when i had the chance?
If you want my body and you think i'm sexy...

plus you love reading this thread for all experienced info


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 28, 2010, 09:59:55 AM

dtotherob could kick your ass in a game of SKATE!
Wait, I thought SKATE was just a jock game Chuck? But yeah he probably could, I don't play SKATE. I occasionally play BEERS, or SHOTS, then at least when I lose I have nice buzz going.   

it was sarcasm.
Sorry, didn't know Chuck found a sense of humor all of a sudden. It's a good thing you're here EB.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Seekskater on February 28, 2010, 10:06:06 AM
I have another question for you experienced skaters.
Where can I find a Mega-ramp deck? They're pretty rare since the closest mega ramp park is 8 miles away. Shops here only have street and vert decks. CCS doesn't carry them.Can you guys help??

Oh wow i'm pretty experienced at this actually. See the first thing I did was try to figure out what the Tech Deck's were doing, and then mimic it.

Right here you can buy a MEGA-RAMP with a Flip board included, so obviously you're going to want a Flip board on the realz.
http://www.amazon.com/Tech-Deck-Mega-Ramp-Board/dp/B002GJTKUE

I suggest not picking a pussy skater's deck that can't skate a MEGA like Appletard or ALI Booyaya. And please, PLEASE when you skate the MEGA, don't be a weakling and just air over it like Lizard King, at least bust a 9'er (900).


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: the WORMER on February 28, 2010, 11:33:08 AM
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: bailgun on February 28, 2010, 12:05:44 PM
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: elastic back on February 28, 2010, 09:11:49 PM
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on February 28, 2010, 09:26:39 PM

dtotherob could kick your ass in a game of SKATE!
Wait, I thought SKATE was just a jock game Chuck? But yeah he probably could, I don't play SKATE. I occasionally play BEERS, or SHOTS, then at least when I lose I have nice buzz going.   

it was sarcasm.
Sorry, didn't know Chuck found a sense of humor all of a sudden. It's a good thing you're here EB.

Listen here you little piece of shit. Until you post footie of you beating people in a game of SKATE, I don't wanna hear anything out of you. Get it?


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: bailgun on March 01, 2010, 02:12:18 AM
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Watermelon on March 02, 2010, 07:07:41 AM
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: elastic back on March 02, 2010, 07:51:46 AM
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: dtotherob on March 02, 2010, 07:54:19 AM
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on March 02, 2010, 08:43:02 AM
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: bailgun on March 02, 2010, 09:35:41 AM
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: WiteNite on March 02, 2010, 11:20:55 AM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: C H U C K on March 02, 2010, 11:53:07 AM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: the WORMER on March 02, 2010, 04:13:08 PM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: zeroney on March 02, 2010, 06:04:01 PM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: elastic back on March 02, 2010, 06:05:27 PM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.



Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Hefeweizen on March 02, 2010, 07:32:54 PM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.

Banned Wagon.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: skatenerd on March 02, 2010, 07:53:35 PM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.

Banned Wagon.


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: zeroney on March 02, 2010, 08:06:58 PM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.

Banned Wagon.
again


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: elastic back on March 02, 2010, 09:01:40 PM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.

Banned Wagon.
again

buckle up!


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: Bohdi on March 03, 2010, 08:20:14 AM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.

Banned Wagon.
again

buckle up!


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: zeroney on March 03, 2010, 05:49:15 PM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.

Banned Wagon.
again

buckle up!
beep beep!


Title: Re: Experienced skaters look here!
Post by: dtotherob on March 03, 2010, 06:21:57 PM
Can I play?
2 elephants having a good time…
PASSING GAS STATIONS
{Like a fat man struggling to breathe.}
That night, after hurting her eyes watching elephants, Karen completely forgot how to love a man, but had an itch to make it with the next elephant. “Oh Kevin, why can’t people be more like large animals?” And, under and elephantine moon, she & Kev explored the mysteries of jungle passion plus English-language studies: why anger & danger don’t rhyme & other such suchness.
    “Knife has a k in it,” Kevin observed, “yet homosexualism amongst men precludes women.”
   ”I know,” Karen talked like a Norfolkian, “take Nor-Fuck,
it’s a glorious place because everybody wants to say it
instead of the pronoun.”
    “You are exciting like a skinny woman in undies.”
    “Yes,” agreed Karen, “as when General Sadam Hussein al Takriti replaced President Bakr in 1979.” — She awoke from her longish nap only to be punched in the head by her brother’s uncle. He had huge, heavy fingers from several years of hammer-juicing. His toes were fleshy & stained from tobacco use. Kevin sought the comfort of a short, fattened woman whilst Karen preferred the stillness of a tall, gainly man. Together they’d have trouble adjusting to the new sizes adopted by belt manufacturers. Karen enjoyed nightly loving whereas Kevin was more prone to drinking & driving. Children would be a part of their futures as impregnations. One can sit for hours on ass without regard to compounds, explosions, fish strips or shaven women. Kevin knew his lungs’ capacity & couldn’t enjoy cancer fearlessly. Karen ate from a bowl provided by the u.n. as her country was bombed to smithereens.
   Next: King of the underwearers! Proctitis: inflammation of the anus & rectum… author’s notation: thank God I ain’t got that.
    Karen knew that with the price of ground chuck it would be impossible to serve meat to Kevin every day. Perhaps a substitute would hood-wink him after a few beers? Luridly she plied him with liquor till his tongue was good for nothing. “Care for a burger, Honey?”
    “Sure, I’d like a honey burger!” Said he half-looped.
    Karen prepared the fakest one every & presented it to
Kevin with a plate of potato chips.
    Kevin, who was barely able to chew, gnawed the imposter
meat like a dog would a tree trunk. “Sheeze,” he said, half
soused, “this ‘meat’ is something.”
   ”Something?” Karen thought. “Does he suspect? And I don’t like the way he framed meat in single quotes.”
    “Got any more honey? Burger?” Kevin slurped half-assed.
    “Sure,” Karen said with a smile that was winsome yet heartless.
    Later when nobody was looking she vowed to never mock Kev with trick meat again. She prayed no damage was done to their abiding love. {After scratching like a monkey for so long she decided to wash her hands & resume scracthing.}
   I felt the terror in her Peruvian hands as she forced upon me erotic message techniques imported from Mexico. “Roll over,” she said in Spanish. “¿Donde esta mi padre?” She asked in English.
   ”Listen to me thoroughly,” I warned, “Peru’s stable junta is about to be over-thrown by operatives of America’s secret police.”
    “Oh Jesus! But what can I do to thwart them?”
   ”Thwart them? La-dee-da thwart them!” It was then as I made fun of her usuage of thwart that events took a sudden verge towards the violent and Peru fell into the Peruvian hands of aroma therapists. {”Oh God: aroma therapists!”}
    “From now on it’s only pants for me!” —
Katharine Hepburn at Dyke Palace, 1963.
    Stephanie had known Charles, or Chuck, since the olympic gender verifiers plumbed her tubals. He’d known nothing more gratifying than prostatic hyperplasia so it seemed reasonable to test the water before doing anything further “olympic.”
   As a cosmetics’ chief’s responsibility starts with a cream base Chuck was aware of layering & cystic action {neither compliments the other}. He loved Stephanie from nodule to papilla, ink to wax, from hanging baskets to mossy crevasse. Nobody knew, or cared to, the lovely parting gifts olympickly-minded. It’s of geographic certitude as all suspect… all the holes in all the heads, the darkness, O the organized effort!

HER ENORMOUS INCOME {Able-bodied man seeking able-bodied woman for procreation. Candidate must be fecund.}
I remember working @ a job 5 years & being barked orders by someone hired a half hour before. {It’s Bermuda’s public traingle repeated: internal editing mechanisms, clock-works, running through women’s underwear in a silly mood.}
   I remember going to a night club that was packed w/ whores. “What’s this: whore night?!” I asked the manager.
    “Cop’s retirement party!”
    — I remember when I was a cop or caught speeding. Ah, a cop’s life… U-turning, no turn-signaling your intent to turn. And don’t let’s forget a cop’s wife: shaving legs, crotch, pits & for what? Shooting the crap w/other cops’ wives, eating from a sauce pan, killing roaches with a high-heeled shoe… {Her nipples were exquisite & she made use of them when the milk man was on vacation to supplement her enormous income.}
    “How much does this job pay?” Pedro Diego asked, hoping to scrape together the pesos for a taco or something better: a tamale!
    “68,000 pesos an hour,” the clerk warned.
    “68,000? That’s barely enough to wipe the spit off my
stinking ass!” Pedro Diego said, summoning internal
strength in a final act of Mexicana briefness.
    “Listen,” the clerk asserted, her ass’s rhythm alining
itself with Pedro’s throbbing hombreness, “let’s go
somewhere so we can be alone if not together.”
    “Sounds good,” Pedro said as he limped from hunger.
    “I know what you need,” the clerk whimpered, “a tamale!”
    “Do you remember when we first kissed? How the fire of it burned into my soul like St. Louis Slugger is into a baseball bat?”
    “Yes,” she said, half looped from the pain
pills, “a fire that can kill or heal!”
    “Oh you’re so correct Patsy! Hang on to what little chance you’ve got to live into a new day,” I cautioned.
    “Is it really that bad?” She asked forlornly.
    “Dope addiction is our nation’s scourge & we must
have zero toleration, same for tax cheats!”
    “But what about extenuating clauses?”
   ”Patsy,” I said, my mind thousands of kilometers ahead of hers, “it’s your stupidity that sizzles my underpinnings!” It was then that I re-vowed to continue my thankless search for America’s scoff-laws and non-filers, for those of full, pouty lips & bosom.
    “I keep my cat under the stove!” Patsy claimed.
   ”Goll! I love you like Lincoln loved his territories blackless!”
I retorted as if I had torted previously… as with my length
between openings: We surrender our children to the
accomplished hands of perverts.
    It’s the hidden desires I keep secret, those secret that remain hidden. It’s physical proximity & gravity, the helpless state of infirmity, lost youth & taxidermy… Love astray directed southward at territories blackless… She sang her preverse verse: “I’m in the nude for love, simply because you fear me & it’s because you fear me, I’m in the nakedness of my base urges.” She hampered my winning image & stoic malcontention. I loved her like a train does tracks or a buffalo surrendering to savages who maintained extreme environmental love if not savagely. {It’s the black-balled niggardliness what flays my pop-corn shrimp, taut findings & proof that demands a verdict.}

WORLD OF ANSWERS = Nudity in the hands
of the clothed is a danger to the uncovered.
Constitution-loving Lincoln — he loved the world so much he gave a million sons. His mention was ca-ca on the lips of the lame. A head: too big for cannon; a brain melon, slime ball, rail-running, roasted-duck eating chill monkey, Lincoln as laxative: You’re asking too much of every prescription. Only war can assay the war-weary, placate them within their hovels, teach & inform.
    “Look Steve,” the admiral said, “there are 50
midgets blocking your exit! You can not escape!”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve said, addressing the admiral in a manner reminiscent of the time Steve had jumped over 50 midgets to freedom six years before.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” the admiral reasoned,
“‘can I do it after 6 years?’ I say you can’t.”
   Steve let out a karate-type Hi-ya! as he farted
towards the blockage of midgets.
    “No Steve! Don’t!” The admiral begged.
    “Too late!” Steve replied as his feet left the ground in a tremend-ous leap of midget-clearing freedom. {Years would fart by & his confidence would swell to the point where he’d jump dwarves & elves just as unhesitantly.} + {Either I’m swelling up with pride or just swelling up.}
   I Can’t Visit You in the Hospital Because I’m Committing Adultery with a Nurse’s Aid, starring Loucindy Tiheria as Hosea Keleli, Maralene Hardsclaw as Jwaundalyn Tomonta & Idivine Shakemma as Meko. Our story begins in the bedroom of a big city hospital. Loucindy & Maralene are humping like Presbyterians when in farts Jwaundalyn just back from a small-town hospital. “What’s going down?” She asks whilst our lovers are digging in for another go. Just then there’s a thunderous quaking as California splits open to reveal God’s vengeance, “Oh God!” Loucindy exhorts. “Our sexy behaviour has caused tectonic plates to shift!”
    “No it hasn’t!” Maralene, unencumbered by regret due
to Unitarian stand-for-nothing church upbringing, informed.
    California was lost yet Nevada, which is
a dishonest state, remained intact.
    Good shits are planned they don’t just “happen.”

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSATION
“What’s that on your face?”
    “It ain’t no fly-magneto!”
    “I think it is!”
    “My God!”
   ”Is that your lawn mower?”
    “Yes, I use it for lawn mowing.”
    “Have you ever considered prostitution?”
    “Not while I’m using this whore!” {Speaker points at mower.}
    “You are the envy of everyone!”
    “Including dentists?”
    “Especially them!”
    “Every fucking thing learned about fucking has altered nothing in regards the universe, science helps manly & mainly itself. All contents of folly & encore, roil & spatterwork, port & aft, a million intrigues rotate with us, enriching & impoverishing.”
    “She provoked pagan fury in me I’ven’t had
since the olympic-disease incident.”
    “What’s that? A face?”
    “Face a face with this face?”
    “Stand pat Patton, I’m in a face-slipping moodiness!”
 
Must DESTROY CENTRAL CONGRESS
Chances’re dim that U.S.A. will return to constitutional
Chief Magistrate, judiary & bicameral legislature.
   Light trails of music, exorbitance in fuel, stealthy work across oceans, busyness as proposed…Living in buildings, building your lives whilst in buildings…amongst the pulsing orbs, quasars, things what thump & swell, a donut, a cheerio, a welt across one’s fattened ass, a republic in shambles, a once-proud group of groupers swimming up-stream, streaming down the shallows as we whisper to each other after church has fallen to nothing. I admit to what they say, I sail to a concluding mood…I reach for my knife, I run for a gun, a board with a nail sticking out of it, a fly swatter, ice water, a birthday card wired with an explosive device. My wires {& wages} are attached, it be a scheme I tells you, a black hand, a cold-hearted, whore-mongering hatchling that makes one pray, it be: grill or be grilled.
    Light mails of exedra, exegesis, warted trolls…there’s
public indebtedness & then there’s generosity.

STRANGE WORLD OF CONVERSION = Performance + tested & buttered bread, nothing’s going to touch upon the slippery & oiled partings. Lord no! Oh Lord, yes! Gimme amen, gimme sanction, gimme toast & cheese. It’s the calling of French oral surgeons to help those with ornamental tongue jewelry live to acquire add’l piercings.
   It’s the onerous task of army flunkies to fight logical appointment, follow the paths of least resistance, eat in formation, shower in 3 minutes. It’s a difficulty what lacks worthwhile session, a traipse minus sashay, a point without puncture, a book without measure, despair lacking regret. It’s 2 eyes, a binocular outlook, an alignment perceiving depth & contrasting starkness. It’s one with two & 4 with 8… it’s him: El Hombre con dos Ojos.
    [Allow me to drain naturally upon your sheets & pillow slips, let me pass freely amongst your pipes, receptacles & china porcelain. I shall partake in your crunchy treats, witness ablutions, participate in diurnal discourse, rifle letters & test your hygienic products.]
    [Here amongst the warted I lay down my life-defending battle, my arches have fallen, my lips have curtailed a furtherance of kissing comrades, cohorts, soldiers in general. I await my ephemeral awards heavenward. If the Lord can stand it who am I? --- The nurturing drain is entirely naturalistic as sun-
exposing our wieners to porch lights, as sure-
footed, as rewards-worthy & dietetic.]
    [Cystic drain coming down a flow: Johnstown 1889, whenever, whether, safety in numbers, street-lined trees, sanity in traces, willows, Walden inversions, women, Lordly women. Oh God, women! Here plot they, here tree-climb they, here stride they, here pixie-plied, swoll, bursted blooms. I prefer my sex fans unregistered, damn it all...]
    Mr. Blood Drivel asks: Are you sure your blood’s as untainted as Godly possible? — That John Wayne, he sure pissed me off when he said he was bigger than the Beatles who were bigger {at the time} than Jesus, meaning John Wayne was bigger than Jesus & the Beatles! Impossible! Because Jesus is more important than John Beatles & the Waynes combined! The Bible is laid amongst the brethren…

WRITER OF BOOK: RICHARD THRIPP — no military experience, no college education, night high school graduate 1979.
Richd. Thripp doesn’t use coupons, separate trash, read newspapers, marry within race, eat meat, care about trees & manatees, believe in imminent climatic catastrophe, love Hitler, kill many snakes, follow sports, attend church, worship Prince Jesus, dye hair, limp, shack up, believe in registering nurses, submit to surgery, discourage children from smoking cigarets.
   Must I suffer ass-agonies upon the pointy rocks of Juan Ponce de Leon’s jetty? Recoil in horror at the peace offerings of peace officers who are just like you & me save the pigs’ blood, or the comparable visages of Van Heflin & Vic Morrow. I feel I’ll be always available nites & weekends. Ready-set-go, blowing up balloons, reeling in line, impersonating Ray Milland as he appeared in 1935’s The Gilded Lily, improvising for my life’s worth {save when doing Ray Milland}.
    Richard Thripp marries cyclically: 4 to 7 years.
Women wear @ differing rates of exchange.

PREVIEW: COMPUTER-CRAZED WILD ASS
Her passivity reminded me of some hot chick I used to date
on the inter-net. I was adjusting my web browser, scrolling
in 5 dimensions on-line, checking out my e-mail whilst
listening to a c.d.…
    The linguini strap barely holds my bikini bottoms up, let alone on. I’m stuffed in, if I made a sharp right it’s all over. I’m not well-covered & perfect bladder control’s a prerequisite. “Keep that gravy at arm’s length! I’m in a bikini!” or “God no! These winds are whipping up to gale force!”
    To be small where it counts & big where it matters, that’s the ticket because millions of Mexicans are on their way here now! Welcome to the United States, Mexicans! In the U.S. we speak the English language! Our beaches are loaded with oiled white people in undies striving to become dark people.
    To be passion-weary during passion-heavy days {& smallish,
biggish & love-starved} is what loads our beaches & caves
our balconies. We impassion our hot chicks beyond
reminder — outfitting them in supportless swim
gear, spreading lies & spending fortunes.

THE NIGHT I GOT EXTREMELY LUCKY
Kathy Bendix had never been in a male-enhancement clinic nor had she lived little better than an animal in a Viet Cong-run prisoner-of-war camp. She had always lived the routine: bingo @ church, rubbing herself in olive oil, shaving her legs Tuesdays. If there was a big, wide world Kathy, or Cathy as she preferred, didn’t concern herself with it. God’s retribution is real & many American cities would be butcher shops when Jesus wandered back from his 20-centuries’ journey. Her mother was dead drunk on casual drinking. Dad was an advocate of retreaded tires. “It’s a way of life,” he maintained, tho he believed them dangerous & inferior.

Banned Wagon.
again

buckle up!
beep beep!
in for 2.