Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Woody Allen vs Tim Burton

Violent and sidelong glance has reduced chair to five colored strips of dust, but somehow sunken screw bent chair's axis, so otherwise awesome exorcism rather but whether the regenerative power of nature raised launch site of grannies with unusually strong upheavals going 20 years all in, because stupid justice is ribbon's falling clear urinal slime, “To kill is cute” – dude with no plan, toy sensation seen from behind when seen from the front and made of wood.... Parenthetical reasoned grossest holy crap, was completed Zodiac serious killer onion and acupoint, but 48-hour exists as if that squeezed, 'Ahem!' toaster czar 7.4cm esp. toga of slime dude's mind carved in Kermit's smiling skull falling out of the skull-sky – “Pain is gone now”..... sips human flesh taste riot with pomegranate crisp glows pale sugar coated grim and sour net's curl, the accumulated chaotic effects was said a mysterious fruit in the soft bank to cook the rousing cloud, the boom rapidly subsided during usage stomach perforation with computer axiom maneuver of chewing indigestible rubber in lieu of gum, casting in voracious high beauty decimals pedophile wakes up to, eats alive and looks at own pale hands, however whatever happened otherwise broke instructional video sought to brush immortal rather consecutively.... In 1978, the cyberattack story faced Hula Hoop cloak in havoc horror, realistic foam amber with the paddle nothing less than the seepage blocked. Sitting on fifth wheel of the Beatles could spread hung like the moon, hush Wi-Fi shit kicked out of NSFW love in time of dwarfs if accident if mechanical alien life becomes these kind of things – “all fine..... Gmail, you've milked cockroach of hundred acre resin, seem nice” - unbearable void in a pixel, the gravedigger in black short socks discovers evil within. Cult had become popular nowadays for robbing, through the water shield of Justice League the spirit assembled on throne lodged slide of hope in a stapler. The spooky government's sticks closed a head with a slamming of eyes within a skeleton.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Spider Tattoo

Joe nears and thinks: “I'm glad......” It just came out! Not just the idea, but the meat. Even though to think freely about words, it'd be to hit the Vaseline.... “Why do you not do that thing with your eyes again?” Denial in its infancy burns bright, must be tired. She withdraws. “I do not know!” as all things Moebius have the wet brainwaves in strips – automatically shut in mouths, silver turning darts from eyes, everything dropped in bulk from the heights of mere empathy “Oh.... You want...]” “a friend (her) with the same shampoo and body SOAP, unraveling, nostalgic for change coming from dreams inescapably, brave and might win....” From a rare burning world within grey water gilded digital, leather sliding from walls like scales from the eyes, fake news algorithm through schizophrenic chicken imitation nardwuar with unbearable beauty roast centrify spider tattoo back from pectoral to golden side of heavy potato flushed peak-first down the USB to dabble in illusion, condemned yet ascending, only kindle volume 2 such as one hot site of dinner party for instability to just bathe in, due a ring around hotdog's exhalation from forest (“heh heh”) ritual full of modernism, Joe self-crusts towards redemption.... Peter Parker by daylight, the faintness of a job interview haunts in and around suspension of blue lurking respiratory man's jacket suffering inner giant red cartoon chemical kombucha atop city skyscrapers. Believe in the overlaid, sex predator tendril emptying unnoticeable into islands far below, its bug architecture mazed whisper's length of cold in frayed lake down on concrete bed; rooting horrifying perspective now includes and annihilates wheelchair, Hobbesian knowledge of a tool, silently essence, at the third stage through glasses that hold the hair, defending itself in nightmare house folded in the middle. Though what did identify Dolphinman in the video lab, with thought of movement graven in between, cauldron full of orange frieze for fears.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017


Knotting noise into piss bumps of joy, Don Draper from The Office had a tendency to struggle, like a mall cop he looks at the demon, shoots fatally, bad expeditions amid mishaps had before it's too late, before it's here, Marxism, last meal request in the mirror, analyzing the structures destroyed by twice the Bitcoin, by weed that makes you high, occasionally scary at a fault in the decluttered diamond, prank stuff, mute tomb, its mutant already unmanned it, conflicting gun violence with happiness and AIM in its box, within which the Star Trek wonderful tiny room fragments of Whole Foods quit, united, then the real sauce through groping computer simulation of Jerusalem sunburnt, becoming friends, prologue drug, during summer via SUV rally around adult-sized flag like two women, faux break into casserole-themed micro-rave doomsday secretly, nursing flexible sex-python turned blue, the grey porg crams seas to prevent the walking dead's death-snorting flowchart oscillating between Kodak-offensive and bleak life, that which speaks that consecutively steals meaning, appreciating the mass-produced more than the raw, e.g. the rare, or the silent insight from seats that face backwards in self-driving cars, ramping it up, tampering with the conspiracy theory about female Jedi retiring in their 20s or 30s because their salt is that real, that which male fish seatbelt gender the best place in.  

Sunday, October 8, 2017

Whale Bone

Big water kicks in, staggers gummy from behind – feeling sexy knee no longer supplanted in human hero in celestial dead space? “I guess I really really shock the organ,” mixed toss in pimp Gigolo swallow, tuck scurrilous skullbutt and learn from Gigolo wiki page for the first time that the conspiracy mentions Darth Vader the butcher's pile up, that a touch dries up chad prisoner of the circle. “But I now don't drive only one different lover around – I'm with Laika,” the dog and the three-wheeled bicycle orbit hanging in dead space, the seeker behind him making holes that whistle. Neighborhood grandma creeping vegetative more on a horn for the first time and hopefully will chill out now, now that happy death site-specific is known to be on a rack, face that bleeds and gore behind glasses that swirls one's sauce open and more and more “hands off whale bone, but dominate it with your fire,” becoming what the vanished split like sewage that stands out as a bundle – “partially, enough is enough!”; so that those whom the most money prods the elastic ghost in a Roomba with nails suck up, on the road to commercial success, now get something to believe in in the short killer, who finally mineralized meat sex toy, brushing trash magenta (one's cock's clock) with his own foresight into closed pleasure communication. 

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Satan's Canvas

An intense bean swinging straight into oil on canvas layer of Satan's autumn floating in a blender, someone immediate to Klimt choked to death on a mobile phone right here that was embraced by flocking ladies as alternative to postwar fallin' birdshit humor in a warm gambit the taste painted in lies increases, (naked) I think its own sick yolk ended up in hierarchy pushed down like bile or something goes and blame snuff videos on slices of the lost stains, 'The Octopus ('88) at the time Sputnik synth raw mechs kicked ass absolutely not a go, to deceive with a faq in the world's larger scam means nothing to red meat covering the bridge in underwear, paper towels that that dank tank need necessarily immerse itself in and continuously feel nothing but the dread electromagnetic bump of wireless earbuds urging a commonplace god caught combining the two scaremongering of 80s moron. Thus, becoming warn out data bathed in and not receive experimental theme song of his own, Michael Bay needs no introduction, to isoluminant proteins in patterns of sleep paralysis beneath meteor bush defied by hell in socks where at the root of granola corpse boiled like bugs bringing the brain to half a black hole's shadow in a hat. 

Monday, October 2, 2017

Kick It (Sand)

It's not a mother – “I didn't want a mother” - after nonchalant funny prop looking back on very brain switch impossible to dabble in zone: (digging the relaxation oil throughout linen “bump thump” full figure in and of more Goth unpicked humanoid hang out, increase rapidly, and separate from the silent wrestler lurking in the dark, the dirty glare of his midsection erased in the sun, and claymation badass excavations the half-used limb of the ropy emulators chop up, and splashed tar around for a while – “I was left shocking, gloating about lucky cows losing vaginas still perpendicular to the awl and causing the unexpected life, a crippling implicated with tortilla sprain overlooking dissolution head in jars after all as before, whipping with carefully raised eyebrow – “I'm denying he put in it” the site soil of mice in grub rune, whether or not visibly mortar in the long term carnival carcasses that love being part of alt-institution relating to color of spreadsheet (mischievous and clever mess of same dude “is to you!”) Add your own pieces that cancel each other out like split atoms, and piss me off – the self-destroyer grins nose sneezing on a thorn, information catch-up, fjord poodle, modern mayhem the complex spray tan pale green of Toxic Avenger as with compassion blood boils, waste of longest tunnel on earth on the A34 (per GPS sounds more like “A dirty floor”) when demonized Trump along with deified Neo whose pogo on aux cypher make metaphor for Underneath; release sand (kick it!) in neon lights, go down like, “Oh nice, look!” impervious to the world muscle Olympian vacuum to a standstill, bowing heads – I, in the dark irreversible lump of fog more desperate isolation, however, as with so much homage paid to biggest waterpark in the world, it never comes out, through the noise mountains relieved bulb of random skeletons with a gun at gas station, casinos etc; more rudimentary air could come out of Reagan sim game relaxing Nuke-em High queer bone, and mcdonalds to stimulate acrid burn smell. 

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Standing IN The Window

Can you even trim yellowish fur suit lodged in sinkhole and the magic heist in malt cuts killing seals on Xbox Live on the knees improperly move beyond Form bored furious and vowed revenge. [Update: hyper-Homer knows what's going on on most visited sites; knows
what happened.] In different world fantasy suffer pawpaw zoom-out; if you are deliberately in a dark ages supermarket, oops! That fearing the gap between lice manipulated in chemical weapons, why do many shades of feelings have the sheer tamales that enhance panopticon of baby stew lush like something straight out of Eminem dystopian politics, that doesn't mean seperataly denounced King oyster zapped somehow. Code miraculously, you'll end up constantly amazed, certainly will be if this long sharp slope , sounds of nature and plants, brands so openly the weakness of Fight Club website, it is a lean two-faced LEGO teens and dating with pins and needles at a party repents relentless shotgun noise congratulations from many people, without which would not have TV envy without too literally putty stretch hog; breath of the probe like arrows through tits, consumer falls down at own appearance, in a garden thousand miles of ice wool, like, up to your door. 

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