Experienced skaters look here!

[Seekskater]

as an experienced skater

Bullshit

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.

[Seekskater]

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).

[the WORMER]

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.

[bailgun]

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.

[elastic back]

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.

[C H U C K]

as an experienced skater

Bullshit

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?

[bailgun]

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.

[Watermelon]

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.

[elastic back]

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.

[dtotherob]

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.

[C H U C K]

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.

[bailgun]

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.

[WiteNite]

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.

[C H U C K]

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 WORMER]

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.