I am empty of tunafish semblances and performing with a troupe of acrobats in the arena of public predilections. The tickets are cheap and it is a summer show only. There is a bucking, an inverting and a flipping on the bruised shoulders of panicked elders. The formations assemble and break apart quickly.
The critters I have trapped and had taxidermied this weekend include seven weasels. They have been stuffed and stilled and locked into a circle, backs to the center. Happy stuck weasels commemorate the Fourteenth Day.
Pants pocket-like jowls are forming. I am husbanding the landscape with my chums, each morning we raze, trim and pluck. All actions seem to come in demonic threes.
It is time for a suckling.
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6 comments:
I am cramped in the calves and have developed a phobia of fly swatters and a craving for unflavored, clear, medicinal jelly. Something is a bit off. I blame the weasels.
If you follow the line of silence, then dancing will replace thinking, you can learn to line dance. Maybe this dampening of sound is the next wave. Go dumb now, thoughts are for the garbage dump.
Empty head and locked hands are points of warning to heed. You may need a dunking in the marshes of unfathomable serpents. One step at a time is what they say on tv.
I have smashed the insides out of my tv and am wearing it on my head.
MM you've been spammed!!! Please make them go away.
My goodness, 12 spams in one hour, that was fierce. F off. Chewed Up Baby, I hold you solely responsible.
I am replacing my hands with soup ladles, there is much liquid to drink up. Sotoo am I fashioning a nest from lint, sticks and napkins, in the way of the thunderbird. I intend to be guided accordingly.
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