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Some kind of environmental statement, made on the collapsed section, of the San Bernardo expressway. The bibles, willy-nilly, on the floor. Hair, hopelessly uncombed. Waiting on them, I don't understand a lot of things about the clients, boss. What do they want? Dimple boy, serious crush on; banana nut bread, and nuclear energy. I'll pile drive you, mister! The wrong geometry, led me into a lot of trouble. Sour cream and cheese! Please, could you pick up my prescription for me, I'm terrified to leave the house. Animators ... it's always been a corporation! It's all happening, and will continue to happen, this way. I didn't screw your daughter, sir, I'd like to, though. Running out of any way to get this across. Find out about the despair, the herky-jerky, starts and stops. Provided for, twice divided. The thing that lives out the majority of its existence, underground. Put this in with the others. The angry look on her face, every time a sneeze is averted. Some people, though, can't stand to lose control… the restrained, snuffled sneezers. A frightening face appeared in the window. Most of us grieve quietly, give up early. These computers are not for your entertainment, sir! I more than likely, owe you an apology. I never did anything wrong, but nonetheless, something is called for. The original, adorns the top of the toilet. He died the old fashioned way, after all. You will not, you cannot, stop me. Winner of the jurisprudence award, for throwing all rules, regarding anything, out the window. It will be a total, and absolute, smash. I've got to sleep. Bow and curtsey, to the new diseases, close the snot/brain, loopholes. What pile? For them, not for me, and if... (go to your psychologist appointment). Think instead, and what haven't I said? The trail of blood down the hall, is still there. You should be embarrassed by your sorry performance, and then scanning the best-selling, non-fiction titles? How to classify!? It's a myth of the soap operas and the ... possibility/opportunity, of really sad songs, to spur you to leave town, for good. Everything is spelled wrong. My mouth tastes like paint, most of the time. She'll whisper in my left ear, everything I never/ever, needed to know. I made myself into my own slave girl, for a few years. They repeat themselves. On second thought, there is no context, to any of this, whatsoever, so take out, or put in, at will. We wait, in vain. Go inside of the television, itself, slide right into the screen. The soap sticks to their hands, because it can't believe how much dirt there is to adhere to? I cursed you, and made you mine, you hit me and put me down. Movement hurts. Sit down, not there, here, good, now I can live again. Just traipsing around the dairy, is painful. The head is in a jockstrap, calling all cars! Never question, son, obey. Expecting the worst, with every phone call, this still won't prepare you for anything. Blow your whistles kids, blow your whistles! In and out, in, and out, developing a convenience store mentality, on a national scale. To the label, ok, now, get beyond it, let's pretend to be each other. If I’d have found a radar detector... complexes of never-ending variety, surround this. The lips and the eyes? It looks kind of ridiculous to you, the old piece of paper, who leaked this? Tightening my stomach muscles up, good, now I'm sure to flop. Lay down right now, wherever you happen to be, and make quacking noises, while holding your right hand straight up. Don’t attempt to live off anybody else’s, spitfire venom. I couldn’t even get it in. We sat in the darkened living room, and discussed my, “future.” This is the oldest part.
This is extra, and doesn't count towards the total number of credits allowable. Napkins, half-eaten, lay around the dining room. You just know, you mean to tell me, you, just know? Your tingling sensations, will go away soon enough, who am I, to facilitate their passing? Zippers are fun. Stop welcoming me here, I've lived here all my life. No, put that in the refrigerator. They don't trust me, or the books I'm interested in. Paint them all blond, and watch how much fun they have. Bottom drawer, left hand corner, surprises. Pork roast look-alikes, sure you are. There it is, with what she said I was, in control of (or owned). Color brown, it can touch the paper from where it was, like being caught in a blender, it would really hurt to find out what you thought of me. So, is this all self-protection? Yes, all of it, all of it! It's curled into the way, so that I can't see anything. Blown chances, there in a house I didn't want to be in; the betrayal was so thick in the air, that no plot could have existed. The (house, for sale) recommendation, take a shower. The small splotches of "wisdom," have never been what most people remember. My arm is stuck to the table, seemingly glued, what's he doing in that building? Yuck, rotting yellow! Say a little bit about her, here. Well, it's too late now, it’s as if the book has already fallen. Significance, I could be spooked out at any time, but it's just lightwaves playing off my retina, rods and cones. Blue forms, human, coming down to visit, I'm not these phobias, don't shine that light on me. The silverware is placed inside of the napkin, so you won't use it, they don't want you to use it. This steaming erection, that I have right now, is of the type that can't be ignored, too long. The motorcyclists, reek of shit. "Almost fifteen," the little, red, precious bow, on the head? Alive for now, dead later; must get to sleep, and forget, for awhile. When the head's insides can flow freely, there's no telling where we'll end up next. Visitations climbing up and down my spinal cord, and then encasing me in plastic. It is an abbreviated version. It goes way too far. So much, is hidden. The elastic conversion, screw her, the very second you think she'll let you, the lust box closes, and is locked, quickly. As for the mysterious beeping, ahem. Don’t just look at it. Frank, put a date on it. The whole thing, is shit. Not much is clear, in the midst of this. That's their idea of romance, but nobody's getting any. There has got to be a solution. Run out of the office. Keep away from those cashews. All in all, it’s been a waste of time. More insomniacs masturbate, than any other group. The chorus, is really just a couple of guys, shouting back, and forth, to each other. Egotists, screaming and crying, all kinds of shit, about what a weirdo, and a sicko, I was, I didn’t stop laughing, for about fifteen minutes (uh, pardon?) after I heard the door slam. I don’t want to just sit anywhere, doing anything. The old handwriting, does not apply. Uh-oh, another heart attack is brewing, I'd better adjust my legs, or something. Open the cupboard tonight, and look in there. Say to whoever's around, "this is nonsense." The plastics we'd use, get it off my face! Guys line up to show off their penises. "Hey, check out my penis," they catcall. I'm going to ... my job is to fuck you up, so that I'm not the only one who is? Well, then, what's the problem? People have so few diversions, these days, or, far too many. The problem is that I haven't the wherewithal, to change the radio station, and they play the same songs, on twenty minute rotations. The lead and chromium, gets to me too, see? My cells are tingling again, saying, "Why do you eat so much?" We won't let things get any more miserable, than this. For your own good, don't let rock stars tell you what to do, they'll lead you around some really fancy tulip gardens, but then leave you off, right where you started. The pensive inner-lining on the jacket, and that stain on the nail of my index finger, that won't go away; on the side, in the crease, if that makes any sense. So boring, we’re walking through the salon, and trying to decipher what no one can say straight out; they can only allude. History has been obliterated, it’s legacy, forgotten. The experience, never happens, or if it does, has no significance. Define arete, and African continental indifference. You're wrong, if you think they're still running around in cataclysmic, fantasy cages. French women, kiddos, the best, well, I've gotta’ watch what I'm saying here. Constraint, is a concept I'm only half aware of. The wall behind the toilet, more shafts develop, and letters printed backwards. My hand is on my forehead again, it only takes one hand to do this. Ten cents will caress you, and give to you, explore you. Yes, I see the light, but I'm sure not going to attach the significance to it, that you, apparently, did. Twenty-five cent drinks, till eleven, free body piercing, and tattoos. Stop giving us Tuesdays off, it's as if they know we were testing our resolve. We're all waiting, and nothing is going to happen. If people wanted... drop it. Two liters a day of carbonated water, and I've got an important question to ask you. I'm really perplexed right now, dumbfounded! The regular people, don’t really like anything. It’s this boredom, I just can’t stand it! Anything but this, I lied. Slap yourself, like Vera, used to do. I look back, and they were all so “punk rock.”