Shaun Ryder Hot Thousand Avalanche Bean

It’s great when you’re straight, oops.

When I was a nipper I looked into my closet. What did I see? I saw Dr. David Starkey eating a lemon and questioning the eschatology of apercus. I used the words tenfold, echt, and thoroughbred when I saw him inching towards a state of inconspicuousness. Hark! The sunshine came!

Listen: the morass is calling! Run to it and embrace its Spartan fields.

Sartre is right. Sartre is an anagram of disillusionment. Have it, take it, swallow it again, my lardy fiends.

Thoughtlessly, the Anarchic Collapses

Stubble in the shape of penises.

Penises in the shape of artisans.

Artisans in the shape of bonobos.

Bonobos in the shape of huckleberries.

Huckleberries in the shape of diarrhoea.

Diarrhoea in the shape of an artichoke.

GAP

“The man was indignant,” said the indignant man. “The woman too is indignant,” said the indignant woman. “Hopefully the man and the woman can move towards a level of calm which makes their living arrangements much more pleasurable,” said the hopefully-the-man-and-the-woman-can-move-towards-a-level-of-calm-which-makes-their-living-arrangements-much-more-pleasurable squid.

GAP

Not Only in the Afterglow

When the chocolates arrived, we were all ecstatic! Ho! The chocolates are here! Yip-yeep-yoop-yup-yurp! As such and as such things we did declare that afternoon, wired as we were.

Alan stole a catamaran from the Westside and decided that we were not to have those chocolates purloined from the badger who had hitherto scuttled into a darkened nest of someone somewhere.

1: Flex.
2 – Need to garrotte something.
3. Digest.

But then came the wolves and their sinking mouthmats! Who were these chocolate-obsessed fullmouths with their dialects and their smells and their horticultural plantations?

Lo: we pondered. Dr David Thoughts. Dr Cancel Calcium. Dr Angle Mercedes. Dr Gnocchi Vestibule. Dr Cheap Thai Brothel Slaves. Dr Marketing Brochure and Slack Tongue Clinics.

I love it when you send me vowels.

Somewhere There is an Astronaut Bleeding

1PM: Horace came into the kitchen this afternoon sneaking around with his nips ablaze attempting to curtail the dragons. The dragons were havvin none of it: “We can’t svelte goat maggot supper somewhere insatiable black gore when pullulating and nightmares.”

2PM: Horace was repentant and somewhat chastened at the sound of litter babies crawling through the swamp. The litter babies are not as crucifixion-obsessed as Al Gore. Al was less up for swallowing toast when the nightmares happened and somewhat regimental when it came to popping Es.

3PM: There can be no silence in the realm of the doughnuts.

4PM: Was when we silenced the pimps and ate the gravid artichokes.