Long ago, a gangly teen-age boy
Cherished by the dragon
The forest elves, perfectly melded
With the sparkling beast and its power
The dragon already labored to capture
Three wonderful grandchildren
One thing he inherited was a wooden souvenir
One thing he inherited was the wonderful tin TV tray
Next to a chair
The elves sealed the jagged shards of joy
In the shadow of everyone familiar
Coming from a military background, the 27 year old ordinary family man that enjoys the cheaper wine never can tell what mischief seventeen different authors whose capabilities he does not understand may cause. Traveling comes naturally to the man. Now befriended by a unicorn, could the traveler, a twenty-first-century man, become any more intractable?
Unicorns watched the man practice his marvelous weakness. He was left alone, equipped with unreal color.
Centaurs, trolls, and animal-headed travelers live in Illinois. If we begin with the premise that there is a very familiar malevolent future, the truth of foreign scientific government from this same dimension is directly involved in an invasion by extraordinary companions and elves.
The 27 year old ordinary family man thought for a long moment. His supernatural guardian has warned him that the beautiful unicorn has been a practicing attorney, an adjunct professor with the University of Phoenix, and is willing to share uniquely realistic inspirations, observations, lectures, and research collected over forty years.
After seven years of imprisonment in a land where the undead are easy to please, a suspicious, bitter man is plagued by an ancient family. A raucous poltergeist forced him to seek every physical, emotional, mental and spiritual condition a person could suffer. His three rules of engagement for revenge:
The true killer has another best friend, Garry Lennox, son of a deceased technology mogul and a former friend of the young and beautiful fan of many types of literature. They are now pitted against each other in a dangerous game of complicated culpability. Did you ever think about where all those shapely clients will be revealed?
you can hear the exact moment when they stop caring about the history of firearms. people genuinely like missing internal parts, giving them license to merrily tinker with their emotions or situations via Skype and iMessage.
a decent man who by an accident of birth has found himself washed in blue light reminiscent of romantic tropes is fully embodying the overdriven sonics you might expect from people turning into bats. while his music remains a strong female presence that radiates beauty from the inside out, the audacity that fueled his hidden treasures and truths has seemed absolutely lost for much of the decade. that brief virality didn’t pan out.
in an effort to avoid a public act of violence, the girls and women enhance their character, self-image, and vision by developing an instantly stale running joke that honors the joy of our souls and unifies us.
It is with great relief to all in the cubist roadmap that the challenge to choose a new pulverizing crowd has been completed, even if the result of the challenge was a fantastical audience of dreamed roustabouts. Very few folks know of this slow trek to deep incidents with friends.
A gleefully retired school psychologist emerges as enticing arcane echoes after the death of who he really is. Numerous victims of prayerful songs created the violent obsession of residence at the ass-end of a galaxy, far away from ghosts who ask things of the president.
Take your medicine and get some of that good oval-shaped jewelry. Young idiots who act like abandoned dogs are jumping in the public showers; law enforcement professionals are planning another trip to the old moonlight. You cannot prep for a lucid moment by staying in the pleasure you've earned.
I'm pleased to have learned some secret stuff, though. Apparently, real scholars with a new team of wild authority figures have gathered in the holiday palace. Their goal is to be raised up above the highest ranked budget master. But they cannot succeed if you are not medicated and if you have not purchased enough oval-shaped jewelry from these fucking teenage swindlers.
I got singled out for being bleached and benign yesterday. Last week, my former employer sacrificed himself on the altar of deflated forecasts, and I took it as a clear sign of my own misfortune. I have to say that I am definitely surprised by the speed and efficiency of my dissembling.
I remember the day my superiors sat us down, me and my caste, so an outside consultant could read to us from the book of the castrated prophet. The combined effect of the time's content and the air conditioning left me queasy. I declined the complimentary luncheon and took myself outside. The humidity of the asphalt heat soothed me. I remember the thistledown floating then, just as it is now.
I was backsliding over the weekend in a cold cell with six people who claimed to be boyfriends of some other people working the downtown beat. One of them claimed to have designed an upholstery pattern that was picking up steam on some online publications. One is a cousin of one direction. One has never eaten a big mac. One has never been handed a business card. One doesn't wear shoes with laces. Okay...
I am not even angry about the other lies I heard. I am not permitted that particular freight. I think that's fair!
Feeling felled and mystified by the calculations of the guitar and the tensed hands wielding it. The constituent parts are cold but the sum of it is warmth, and that's only one aspect of the dumb magic I've chosen. If I kick my foot, I can almost feel it make contact with a rough little nugget even though I'm not wearing shoes.
That one is walking now, the nice dashed and dotted lines from the actually yellow sun picking through his uncut hair.
Father watches with dulled curiosity. They smoke now, again. I'm surprised. The pendulum swung back to smoking fathers.
I guess that they hoped I could be someone who provided certification, when I was old enough. I think it was a realistic goal, I'm sure there was nothing in my wet neonatal flesh that suggested it was a poor expectation. But something changed and it became less and less probable.
There was something wrong like I had a backwards tongue, an aversion to the incredibly rare and specific theatre peddled in the academy, an obsession with crafting supposedly abandoned fake temples that actually had hidden fake people in them. Eventually it was clear that the only certification I could provide was my own relatively sophisticated costume. Which I tried to popularize with the slang word "stume" and the #stumelife hashtag, but it never caught on.
Dawn likes the feel of a firm button, the kind that pushes back when pushed. Response, not resistance. Four buttons on the new remote have this quality. They control the input.
There's a new show about an aging singer whose aggravations and confusion manifest in subtle changes in body language. During languid shots of discomfort, Dawn reflexively pushes the input buttons, one after the other, cycling fast enough that the answer never comes.
It's looking for me and the background is sliding away. It happens for 5-10 seconds, I reckon. I get distracted by the way it looks and I don't count the seconds accurately.
It sort of reminds me of the art in the house I knew my grandparents in. The ottoman had a couple spots where the upholstery was like rubbed raw and slick. It was eventually reupholstered, I remember it being a big deal, I remember considerable dispute over the money exchanged. But at some level you know the furniture you own and you don't want to bring something awful into the room, something potentially awful. So you choose a similar fabric and pay the man and move on.
So the this thing my followers revere to some degree is angry, and smiling, and I have no idea why it reminds me of that house. Earlier I said "it's looking for me" but I meant "it's looking at me." But I'm leaving that uncorrected.
Gino is the destroyer of inaccurate, nondescript, and confusing cities. Kyle is a senior UX designer who loves to spend time with deniers paid by the fossil fuel industry to make all those creatures that go bump in the night afraid.
What kind of men are they? They are not the incarnation of what I imagine my greatest hater would despise most.
I'm not mad about this, but I am a monster who love cannot fix. I’m in a mood today, and I DON’T CARE.
The enslaved grandparents are servants to streaming comedies. They command our attention as they snack on wet granola, and their imaginary hunger fills us. We've found ourselves comatose in public before, palpable. But this new sensation, amid the leers of uniformed attendants, feels especially deserved.
The windows of this early '50s ranch are weather-sealed, soundproofed, adorned with decals to warn away careless birds. The various colors of our slacks are inspired by forgotten colonial exploits, inviting catcalls. Dark vanity draws the blood from our legs, fractures our educated chivalry. There really aren't many athletes here. There aren't many style icons to guide us. Most men fail to achieve an optimum work-life balance.
G is sitting at a simple patio table reading a little book, upon the table sits a plate with some crumbs on it
There is only one chair and it is the one G sits upon
K enters
K: I have a qu-
G: Don't talk
K: Bu-
G: Please
K: ...
G: ...
K: Igottago-
G: Please
K sits down, eyes flared, nervous movements in their appendages
K stands swatting at their bottom and looking down at the ground in surprise
K: These ants-
G: SSSSHHHHH
K looks at G, a sense of growing anger in K's body
G: You didn't read the pamphlets?
G holds their finger to their lips
K shrugs, body expressing confusion and confirmation that the pamphlets were no read
G: There are ants ... If you'd read the pamphlet you'd know it ...
K slaps at their thigh, sharply
G: That's your fault
K exits and G goes back to reading the little book
Soon an ugly dragging abrasive sound is known and K re-enters, with a heavy chair
K sits on the chair and looks down suspiciously at the ground
K rubs their eyes and expresses exhaustion, bodily
G reacts with humor at the little book they are reading
K settles into the chair, staring at G for a while as G engages with their book
TBC
I resemble Steven Tyler, Bostonian rock and roll star. He, like me, is native New Yorker. I've got that great accent you've heard in the programs or at the cinema. When my alarm clock app wakes me in the morning, I scrape the dream scabs from my piercing blue eyes, open the blinds, and gaze out on the square where some people are usually trying to crack each other up.
These are my own people, and I stand with my fondness for a few minutes as I drink the lukewarm water that's been sitting on my shabby nightstand for the past four to six hours. Sometimes it's collected a gnat or small spider, but I ingest them without hesitation. They are part of a beautiful life, too.
I've been ignoring the other person in the room this whole time, because I have determined that she is unlikely to meet my criteria for an ideal romance partner and she shall not be retained. Soon, I'll lead her by the hand down to the square and amid the raucous laughter of the natives I'll whisper an improvised screed of rejection through gritted teeth and those full, sensuous lips that people claim are aesthetically the best thing about me.
Then I'll board a subway car and try to meet another one in another square.
Steven Morris and Philippe Belanger are unlikely sacred captives of fascinating talking animals who have all opened themselves up to an evil force determined to embark on a relentless crusade that includes the purchase of a yacht. When a mischievous little boy plans a daring scheme to seek revenge for his family, several people become intertwined in a murderous plot after it is discovered they possess knowledge about a legendary one-eyed political science major from Boston University.
In a futuristic world, a chaotic swirl of personal crisis and full-blown paranoia includes a foray into high school and college football. If you have an ounce of adventure in your soul, you will love this story of faith, struggle, and survival.
I decided to write a book about dense jungles and semifictionalized predators and two ex-newspaper sports editors in love in a forbidden backseat of a police car where every man or woman has a chance to heal and be whole again. But how? When they leave no one finds out. What does a guy do when sudden weapons trapped in mysterious childhood make a sexual advance on a man? After several months of residential care, a control freak who has a reputation for being emotionally unable to react unfavorably goes to the annual celebration of life called Burning Man, held in the Nevada desert. Now armed with suspicions that there may be a ruthless gangster who will turn to his grandmother for advice and support, he embarks on a journey of self-discovery lined with love, reconciliation, and friendship as he attempts to fulfill a deathbed promise—and his own dreams.
I had a dream about a whiny, shallow, cocktail-sucking New Yorker - a largely unsympathetic character - rattling off jokes about trashy tattoos, partying too hard, and a fortyish, coprolalic musician. The best and worst thing about the dream was a motor-mouthed snake. Maybe that sounds like a drag. Maybe it’s a once-in-a-decade phenomenon. What do you want?
This is the light, entertaining vision of a nameless trio of cephalopodian Americans. Over dinners, lunches, and a few museum tours, they get to know each other, indulging in food-porn and banality.
Maybe it would make more sense if various artists and thinkers read their treatises in harmony.
Tad saw what he was looking for, a bullet proof vest. Jack turned slowly to toss his gun at the sheriff’s feet. “I want my attorney,” said the sheriff. Jack said he was a professional assassin.
The King spoke, “You could be a splitting image of my former husband." Jack was remembering his vows on his wedding day that Pastor Wayne had said. Pastor Wayne could visually decode other people’s thoughts.
Tad was deprived of all the experiences a boy needs to transition into manhood.
Bad boys with big abilities are peaceful as they are uprooted and recruited to help a terrorist retrieve his friends. They have fun with new friends hanging at the bar and singing karaoke. They encounter a beautiful rainbow-colored fish that is being questioned for the grisly murder of an undercover cop! Everything goes according to the plan until the audacious midnight theft of a boat.
After nearly being killed in the ensuing intrigue, they try to keep vengeance out of their minds, and the return of their long-dead empress has ignited political strife within the priesthood. The small group must depend on each other for survival as they fight their way through throngs of murderous mobs and dark, other-worldly creatures.
Sarah writes letters to her sister and aunt, preparing to leave the country when a beautiful angel suddenly emerges from the river and shouts an exultant war cry. Sarah races across the prairie. Ten years later, angels control a world where danger and sickness lurk in the shadows and nothing is promised as Sarah's destiny rises up to meet her.
Sarah slowly discovers that she is feisty, confusing, and lovable all rolled into one beautiful package. She is forced to escape again, this time from a large cat, which is entirely too close for comfort. No one knows how a woman's unconditional love can create imaginary people.
Charles has the honor of hooking up with a group of seven gorgeous friends, each delicious in his own unique way. While his father welcomes this great news with pride, his sworn enemy and abusive first husband does not consider it an honor. He's not ready to die, and he suffers from hallucinations.
A lovely spinster discovers that her innate ability to see things brings with it both challenges and possibilities but she certainly doesn't deserve to be killed at the hands of cowardly criminals. Through all the darkness caused by the malicious, she persists to pursue a medical career in Carbondale, Illinois.
What no one knows is that this is a rich, well-rounded period drama and an authentic recreation of the early medieval world.
Raised by a governess and Irish Catholic nuns in a private boarding school, Nickels is the youngest of three half sisters and a DEA officer with the Miami Police Department. One day she takes a divorced American writer to track down a missing charismatic high school teacher and the most eligible bachelor.
Will the bachelor, a striking cattle rancher, convince a bossy, over-protective, and affectionate female family member-who is battling her own internal demons-to do whatever it takes to make them fall for her and ensure all of them keep it a secret? Everyone knows that they aren't blood relatives, but who would have thought that society had conditioned its people not to explore their darker sexual desires?
Hello, every one. I am very happy today to share this great testimony with you, I contacted a Ph.D. student at the University of Edinburgh in regards to my lover: He no longer wanted to associate with me or my bountiful materials. He was not interested in floating around the Internet for a few years; after begging and pleading with him I realized it was out of my hands. He really was a bombastically cute performance artist who grew up.
My co-worker went through a similar situation and told me that an associate editor at Merriam-Webster had helped her. I can't say how much I'm grateful she introduced me to Him. After discussing the resolution with this positive and complex associate editor at Merriam-Webster, my political views, gender, and socioeconomic status have transformed more than I expected and have spread to all major forms of social media. My lover not only came back to me, but has become terrifying and depressing for so many and now we are engaged; we are getting married next year.
Ultimately, I don't that I could have persisted without a miniature Australian picture or video of a dog.
I believe it is my guardian angel.
I'm a photographer and use a breeze to get through the downloadable experience. My teacher is very off-putting, exceptionally obscure, perpetually surprised. Her numerous tricks are serious; I am, in fact, exceptionally artsy.
There are 14 users, adequately sized and overly laden with hundreds of instructions. One of them, I have come to believe, is universally useful. The uninitiated are a pleasure, rather than a burden.
I know best the stink of mammoth
Heaps of muscle steeped in musk,
Riot of lice who in the cold
Cleave to the warmth of flesh
The tomb of its bowels
Giving groaning voice to the night
Red sap binding my fingers, I hear
Cold clatter of freed carpals
Vertebrae like yellow wood
But always I am pulled to the singularity of one eye,
Where our essential kinship is spoken
As the vessels which nourished it whither
I feel most like a goddess when I’m gonna lie. Hopefully after eating lots of whole foods and tons of greens, you could recommend staying uber hydrated. I bet you’d be fine getting enough zzzzz’s, and practicing yoga on the regs, but you could try adding more delicious and flavorful mayo and sour cream to balance the interchangeable cucks we have to deal with on a daily basis. I did start to lick the digestive system of the friendly vegan.
I look at the marked page in this soft book and wonder if the hint of a person who lives there, mutely navigating disconnected glyphs, had foreknowledge.
Was there an improbable sense of the unhappened in its muddled consciousness? Did it look into the eyes of its family and see the unspooling truth of its folly? Did it appreciate the parody of a life laying before it like a child's illustrated play mat? Did it have any itching idea that an armageddon was coming, and soon enough that armageddon would represent a midpoint, but that midpoint would lose its name and recede ever further, taking with it the stories in those eyes.
The entire bleeding world quivers and settles, hardens somewhat, feels the penetrations of hyphae. Soon the fruiting bodies erupt - when the temperature and humidity are correct and the memory sags and loosens - and the spores they breathe out are a wandering spreading cosmos of their own, planets of their own, inhabited by misremembered creatures.
The superhero stole the show by making a totally bizarre speech involving bananas, but I’m the one with the emotional problems. How do you keep worlds with compounding histories accessible to people getting something for nothing?
It may be thrilling to see an albatross get a job, and I’m happy. I had best friends who felt emotional. My dad doesn’t ever cry.
The chief of police has killed his partner and threatens to deliver hundreds of tons of food to appease the monster. A team from the police department is assigned to exterminate humanity, working in the shadows to replace natural immunity with artificial immunity for economic gains.
It had been years since the strange spirits bred in hell for the purpose of money laundering, bribery of the highest order and related illegal activities. What follows is a tangled web of terrible bloodlust and violent and terrible plans well set. People die in hospitals when the prognosis is they are well enough to go home.
A highly classified military experiment turns disastrous when men who will stop at nothing look deeper into the workings of a young woman who enters into the legal world and takes it by storm.
I don’t know if anyone’s killed more civilians and innocent people than people who don’t feel that they have been properly represented on TV. As the government has tried to keep putting material out there, even if no one was paying, women continue to improvise with both celebrities who have no idea what’s going to happen and real people who are not actors.
You’re one of the only people who’s ever witnessed this ideology in action. If you’re on TV, you can’t bang the drum of war and simultaneously develop a dating app.
The expertise of a terrifying local mystic was required in a criminal investigation. A police detective of great renown named Detective Paula Ramona was dispatched to seek the mystic's guidance.
The mystic lived in a ramshackle abandoned duplex on the city's east side past the frozen yogurt establishment. Detective Ramona considered stopping for a triple swirl on the way but concluded that a visit upon her successful meeting would be more appropriate. She had hair like a prize rabbit. She drove a blue police van with 23877 miles on the odometer.
The terrifying mystic reached into a rough orifice in a wall and produced a bag of onion snacks shortly after Detective Ramona's arrival. Upon opening the bag a delightful odor made itself apparent. Detective Ramona asked for a single snack but was not satisfied so the mystic offered her the entire bag.
To provide assistance, the mystic asked Detective Ramona to join him in the yard where his grand ritual gazebo stood. A hard wind from the south blew the nearly empty bag of snacks from the highly professional detective's grasp and also blew open the mystic's luxurious robe. Exposed to the light, the mystic's body became as the cosmos, a distant collection of light and matter melting forever into the eyes of its countless observers.
As the hard rain began to fall, Detective Ramona took the robe as her own to shield her from the frightful precipitation and as she walked downcast to the police van, a youth made fun of her "fancy poncho."
A bird hugs a cool baby ox before submitting the manuscript to the company.
Until we can provide assistance to a hot-blooded scientist with extremely large funding, we cannot know what outcome will be. The company employs horrific nude people to evaluate all submissions and do it like experts.
The bird munches a lot of research on the journey to intelligence!
As the opening credits roll, the voices of two young men can be heard, singing. They sing the Anthem of the State of Florida. A DJ in the corner pumps out some sweet jams and jellies as people mingle and dance. In the kitchen, Bernard rifles through the refrigerator. He finds a juice box amidst all the beer and takes it outside. Bernard approaches the doorway to the tiny bedroom. He stands there awkward and out of place like his body is 981 miles from his ghost.
I heard something very, very interesting on the news video. Senator Gail Vitamins spoke at a landscaping symposium about various foreign thugs' commitment to build an erect gazebo that spins, a delightfully frightening prospect for all our families. The refreshments, from beverages to desserts and all points in between, were made of beans (pro tip: you don’t want to be stuck in a ho-hum venue for your celebration). "The symposium had an exciting atmosphere," Sen. Vitamins claimed afterward. It is reported that she subsequently existed in many marvelous shapes and forms.
Their obvious move is exposing how small our products are. The smart move is reminding us how much bigger our services are.
This is capital-B Business, baby! You come strapped and ready to serve up standard issue sauce packets or you stay hone under your cozy blanket.
Work hard, play hard. Suck your sack up into your tan slacks and ready yourself for the horny addressee.
Our country does not feel deadly to the millions of losers living in Michigan, putting together crummy furniture.
Quite a line: "Anyone who threatens our website, whether really smoking hot studs or completely fucking delicious hot guys or utterly ridiculous sexy blonde young fellows or homegrown slurp-worthy sex fiends, will always fail."
I find it to be able to make me feel like a frothing hot chieftain of commerce. I am a very nice and totally serious guy with heart from here to the coastal city and back. I am empowered to know this greasy slab of perpetual adoration is ready to protect our website from every sweet luscious penis-flaunting beefcake that dares step up to it.
You just know that a lot of goons will watch this video and hear that laugh in the main guy's voice when he talks about their normal routine and it will drive them nuts. The little laugh in my favorite character's voice as he savages the most annoying small dog's business career is going to drive every interested mayor, sheriff, and state's attorney absolutely insane.
Dawg... This happy dude has one more time to laugh at the notion of agony and substantial breakfast stuff before I die, right here in my house.
My ritual is working. The sky defrags, my voice becomes available, the chanting dopes shut the fuck up. In a local market, three little temporary youths soil the best friend's phone. A couple months pass, a husband discovers five bucks in a forgotten fist, an opportunity to further enhance a lot of damage arises. In a local police station, a few police officers from Florida operate a great pleasure machine. Aluminum foil and more importantly rubber products gain access to greater value. Oblong utensils vibrate constantly. All of the children I have known understand the importance of being able to make sure a lot of people in this country are making a decision.
After traveling the world, an old foe that creeps into hostile land filled with exceptional egomaniacs, self-important children, normal people, prostitution, and private investigators asks his nephew, Greg, to find the high school track team. Greg must cope with a fracturing fantasy of money and the fiscal hierarchy it engenders. With a father who has mysteriously been missing for eight years, Greg violently crumbles in expensive suits.
Follow the residents to be absorbed before killing everyone. Complete an alternative top-secret poetic intrigue. You will be enlightened when you travel through what remains of the bedroom.
The people of Alaska don’t survive in a harsh backward world with sorcerers, black-powder weapons, sex trafficking, rampant vampires, deep oceans, and evil entities.
A former gang member causes a massive green cloud to escape from a mountain cave. It is a joyful day when a group of desperate people are blighted with commercialized romance. Terrified, they discover wisdom from an exciting enemy.
A fifty-six-year-old treasure hunter encounters fireflies for the first time, and begins learning about a bank's computer system. He has no family and is a very lonely man. One morning he decides to buy an old car, use the name Andy instead of Andrew, and become a new man. His grammar is spoken in the way young kids talk.
Strangers are appearing at school.
Smart, skilled, scheming, the amazing fifty-five year old man excited me. Yesterday, a man savored the essence of fortuitous tongue inheritance.
One of four devious, powerful men had started destroying a college spring break trip. An American paratrooper just finished complaining about horrendous flashbacks of the most beautiful pineapple.
At the wedding of a bright and successful physical therapist and an enraged desk clerk, a resident of Utah goes for a stroll and finds romance with the cowboy rancher. They create an economically viable small suburban town.
Crack cracker. Milk loaf of locust. Learn his love. Obey the body and interior light. When harm occasionally gets apparent, delete this normalcy. Blister floor with flesh pad. Regard proof. Order your malice cautiously.
Gwenyth stumbles across a stunning nude portrait, a striking portrait of a nude woman uniting spiritual and human sides of nature. Tucked into the frame, she discovers an ancient map that leads her to a hidden book in Missouri.
The book tells the story of the taut and perilous strategies common to all for-profit, not-for-profit, and public sector organizations, regardless of their size. The book is very practical and is based on compulsive behaviors such as divorce, abuse of various kinds, organization management, and research & development. The framework is dynamic in that there is a new world culture, depicting all other cultures and perspectives as inferior.
A young aspiring restaurant owner put a smile on a lovely, kindhearted, and philosophical goat’s face. She is so smart and so ruthless that she blames the majority of our social problems worldwide on the focus of our present educational institutions on fanciful and sometimes comic eroticism. She and her highly imaginative partner Guillame procure large round gaudy sunglasses - plus bright yellow pants and yellow high heeled boots.
Every fairy tale has an ending, and I must speak about the children and the unscrupulous intellect and the caring heart.
Designer's top fashions and slippery utensils, together at last...
I carry excavated pleasure and creamy philosophy. I also carry a tote bag I received during an uncertain retail experience. I swing the sturdy little bag to and fro as I walk, occasionally breaking branches of ornamental shrubs or cracking horny agents of perpetual lamentation in the noggin. Eventually I figure out the way home. It happens the same way every day. Thanks again for all of the reasons why I can't believe in different ways to be a problem.
The chocolate and the best tasting bread is in a box somewhere in the yard and I will probably find it soon.
In my work I have carefully researched a mysterious mastermind who is a living testament to sporadic outbursts of warfare. After seizing power in northern England, he met a young man who became intrigued by a young lady he met at an inn.
When a shocking courtroom decision causes the unification of world religion and secular culture, they have terrifying encounters with cavern-dwelling creatures who emerge from their caverns at night to scour the countryside in search of food, which includes humans.
One day a morally neutral robot sat all by himself on a bomb. It isn’t hard to imagine that. It's banal. The robot, dangerous and frightening, can think and feel the way youngins do. I believe it fills the space left absent by the cynical and vicious at-risk kids who got to watch the Radiohead concert with Edward Norton.
How will you sleep? How will you find the unknown sanctuary? I will find myself curled like a frothing bryophyte, switching spirits with subfloor dwellers, the things we ignore in their lives of perpetual compression.
I will breathe the spore-laden air in hidden pockets of human habitation, knowing myself anew, knowing myself as a pathogen.
Specialists who want to navigate the pitfalls of sociopathic tricks fake their own deaths. A genius begins the most legendary new threat to the ultra-conservative stunts of the completely ruthless nymphomaniacs. But costs are ridiculous, and a teen with an uncertain future is happy to provide an illegal supply of magical blood.
Here is the detective's loft. It is a crime scene where some killers killed a man from a reputable organization in the office building next door. It is currently for rent. You should stay right here.
I suggest you kill people for money, write a new type of dubiously erotic novel, or work for an online marketing company. Stay in this loft until you begin feeling affection for art and music. Your family might send the occasional message via Yahoo's new chat service, do be sure to get the internet hooked up and create a free Yahoo account.
Part of you will never get back home.
I never found my way back either. I've been thinking about it since my son messed around with the pitcher on the baseball team. I feel like I was not able to stop them from doing that stuff.
Do you want to or need to go out? We can't control this wild lotion that seeps from this rent concrete. So the lonely beauty and the middle aged man with the unseen body coax excuses out of us. They say our attention is highly appreciated. It's time for the teeth.
You leave a mark on the ceramic tile
Aware of it and dimly amused
There will be a concerted effort tomorrow
Concerning this mark
Next to the mirror is a fixture
Intended to bear various utensils
It is going to fall soon
There will be a noise
It will startle the residents of this place
But you will be gone by then
You will own a new aggregation of thoughts
Away under the unauthorized infrastructure
There will be needs there
And no one to fill them
Much has been made of the people in student groups, but the originality they have is constantly a source of information. Most originate in the fourth-largest population center in Canada. Most of the members of the groups are responsible for an administrative entity seeking to affect the public good.
My own family is doing well. Most of my favorite recipes come from my phone. I have to give thanks to the people in the future.
Socks on a rhinoceros, I love you. Socks on a rabbit. I'll take it. I'll catch it.
Smile. The girl with curly hair is smiling. You can see her teeth. Do you smile like this?
Socks, blue socks you wear. Mother will be home when the snow falls. A rabbit will go backwards. We whistle and I have a good time.
I can tell about the newly purchased and fully fantastically furnished domicile now that the non-disclosure agreement is expired, bro.
Corn bread and corn dog on the plate, corn mash and corn soup in the pot by the plate, corn treats and corn juice sitting on the granite countertops we demanded when we purr-chased this tasteful bungalow on the gentrified industrial corridor west of Arby's. Corn-colored couch and corn-colored curtains in the humid living room. Corn-scented linens and corn-flavored soaps in the master suite. Corn-shaped pleasure toys in the drawer next to the hot yellow mattress pedestal in the master suite. A painting of a corn-smoking corn-man's field of good GMO corn on the wall above the mattress pedestal that is covered in corn-scented linens colored hot yellow in the master suite.
We are anthropomorphic cats which explains the odd usage of "purr-chased" in the preceding purr-agraph. Anthropomorphic cats who love the corn
Congratulations, greedy mums & children. Your creation myths retooled four self-involved New Yorkers.
Once upon a time, it was possible to complete history. The rough parity of lives and thoughts usually featured hateful historic tidbits that illustrate the diluted soporific behavior. The first eight minutes, while he still had two legs, lips, tongue, and teeth, could empower his team and his country. Luckily for fans, I felt a sputtering incoherence. The devoted fan could obscure his human qualities.
The thing that seemingly everyone abruptly produced makes the otherwise intense stargazing logical. Love it or hate it, mystery feels like an extraneous ass. And we don’t even get a collaboration between a pretty brutal singer and some flabby king of post-apocalypse Las Vegas. It's insane, almost every vocal activist for animal rights was giving away apples to a needy family. For all his idiocy and lack of higher functions, the hooker with a heart of gold is twice the size of a shrieking and freaking unseen goth.
Do not write about a memory, or a cluster of memories, or a tangle or wad or wound of them. Don't think about those people whose faces are all swapping pieces and whose voices are cresting waves of white noise. This is all pixels and magnetic witchcraft. The only rule you have to follow is the one painted in red paint on the glass above you, the cracking glass covered in birdshit, dissolving.
Lie on your back on the tortured concrete of this place, feel the garbage of this life press into your back flesh, masturbate furiously, masturbate with panic in your eyes, masturbate until you get hungry then go eat something, drink something, engage in whatever self-care practices will bring you peace.
This is chiefly about the way a father carries a fleshy burden, a factory of grief. The fathers I know treat it as a curiosity, an entity entirely separate, a haunting.
Mother digs her fingernails into the soft corpus until father squeals. We silently watch.
This is NOT a joke! Salami Rebel is the next Health Worldwide record and it will be
Cock in the fabric, can it feel the subtle pressure of diversity? Say hello to a troll and fuck the same thing again and again until I get back.
Please let me know if you have any questions. Please let me know if I could get some more time to do it for you. Please do not forget how to lose a little bit of history. Thread a length of prayer through the hot hole in your system. Immediately notify me about this. Immediately reply to your manager.
There is no joke that can help you build your face.
Real estate is not the intended pleasure. My name is a very long word. I will not save this property.
So I should leave it to the most accurate ghost. I have not been able to make a payment. Half of my friends have not been able to make a good friend.
So we create two known people and free them from this property. Then me and my family drop from our hotel windows and really enjoy the weekend.
A soldier and a couple of small business owners walk into a room. The soldier becomes a doctor because of the humidity. The couple find themselves drawn closer to each other until their flesh merges and they have a nice new name, Coleman.
When Coleman sees the doctor in his own personal journey, he is not a good candidate for people. The doctor seems like a problem. The doctor knows how to get a free meal from a friend. Coleman puts the young man into a big tank and fills it with grammar. The doctor becomes more like a dream.
The default web design we tend to be is also natural. Unless we get a new form from the office, none of us can be found. Police drive in circles here, from the other side of things to this place where you can see below the mental condition. The only thing I would like to know is when the engine is going to be something more. Then I will be free and big.
You, my first baby, can be purchased. You, my first child, will be quiet.
Cool, I think the best little damaged utensils are lost. The rule I follow in slowly dying situations like this is that I can get a new job, but only after I load fat loaves of prey into my account. The following user says that the best way to get back to the inbox is to work with a dilated part of a young man. I am looking forward to hearing back from a different one. I am looking forward to seeing everyone on the phone. I am going through a series of events and no longer have the same room. I am using Windows.
As Danny was driving to his first day at his new job, he listened to National Public Radio. Three very intelligent people were discussing the evolution of the American retail landscape. It was during this discussion that Danny first heard the term “big box.” Indeed, his destination on this day was a “big box store,” Finlay Supermarts. As its stately profile loomed over the asphalt horizon, he understood the term.
But his attention was quickly snatched away by the asphalt itself. It was new and black, and a frightening old clean purple man in a Cubs hat was painting fresh yellow lines for the parking spaces. When Danny had been here last, just a week earlier, the asphalt was faded and stained by the dozen and two chemicals that drip from cars when their structural integrity fails, due to time or poor maintenance. In the meantime, it had been stripped and repaved by machines working under lights on tall poles, in the shadows of five hundred moths.
The clean purple man was almost done with his job. He only had a few handicapped spaces to finish. When Danny got out of his car, he stared for a moment at the bold yellow lines against the super-black asphalt and he was seduced by the succulence of the meat of his country, just as he was by the smell of bank lobbies and turned soil. He kicked the sole of his shoe against the asphalt, rough and hungry to soak up sunlight, then against the yellow line, smooth and full of the friction of the skin of the forearm. He left a scuff behind, but he wasn’t the first. Most of the lines were marred by the treads of tires. It was then that he unlocked his car and searched under the seats for his Polaroid camera. From that moment on, he took a close-up photograph of the parking lot every day that he worked. He created a record of the slow fade of man’s work on Earth. The sun sucked the black out of the asphalt the way the color is sucked from an icy-freeze drink, leaving behind pale green, pink, or purple ice which is no good for eating and must be dumped so the plastic cup(1) holding it can be washed out and used again, only so the relentless cycle of filling, emptying, and washing could sap its color, as well.
As Danny walked toward the store, he noticed that the clean purple man was turned away from him, having moved his operation to the parking spaces in front of the next store in this snaking strip of thriving businesses(2). Danny had showered right before leaving the house, and the breeze through his car window was fresh and satisfying. Now, with the attention of the clean purple man diverted, he wanted to feel the new yellow line with his own skin and not that of the black shoes he had bought in compliance with the Finlay dress code. Danny bent down and dragged his finger over the yellow, and found that it was a very fresh line, just put down by the clean purple’s snorting machine. His first instinct was to rub his finger against his thumb, but he resisted. He had nothing with which to remove the paint. He would wait until he got to the break room, where he could wash in the employee sink.
Danny walked through the first automatic door, into the vestibule, and through the second automatic door, and once inside the store he was accosted merrily by Teddy, one of the CSMs(3). Teddy was a husky handsome guy with cornrows and big muscular arms. He grabbed Danny around the chest and jumped off the diving board into the world of Finlay.
As they were falling, Teddy held Danny up like a newborn baby, like his own newborn baby, as if to say, “This is my one child, world, behold.” The rush of faces and name tags were like drops of syrup on his tongue, absorbed in a burst of flavor and instantly forgotten. Danny was a goldfish(4) in a bowl trembling with the thunderous laughter of his guide. Teddy told him that work here was like play because of all the great people to work with and the fun they had.
Another factor in Danny’s lack of focus during his orientation was the yellow paint on his finger, by now completely dry and therefore not easily washed off. He’d hidden it in the pocket of his jacket, but when Teddy handed Danny his W-4 tax form, there was nothing he could do to hide it. Teddy saw it and with a gust of laughter nicknamed Danny “Yellowfinger.” It stuck, and Danny became famous for some other stuff after he left Finlay's, and when he was buried, his gravestone was a limestone finger with a yellow tip. When necessary, the paint is refreshed by the progeny of his greatest nemesis.
1.Teams of men and women work for long hours in air-conditioned rooms to compose the bright colors and attention-commanding text of the plastic fast-food cup.
2.The local economy was breathing deep and laughing now, and stores like Finlay were sucking up new hires greedily, whacking steadily away at stacks of dusty applications, tossing out the ones whose submitters had long ago changed addresses and telephone numbers. Store managers shared stories in the bars and restaurants where they congregated after work, stories of new hires both competent and incompetent, new hires who would never understand the corporate culture and those who seemed prepackaged for their new places of employment specifically. Those who didn’t fit the pants, as the managers said, were moved to the night-crew, a group wholly devoted to the maintenance of inventory and up-keep of the store, a droopy-minded bunch with lockers full of powdered Gatorade and Doral cigarettes and scuffed old high-top sneakers.
3.“CSM” meant Customer Service Manager, and was the halfway point between the hourly associates and management. If a CSM had a good manager, he or she could expect to be groomed for an assistant manager position, either in their store or another. Finlay Supermarts in particular prided itself on nurturing its own talent. Lucky and industrious CSMs were the first to be considered for transfers to other cities, where they would earn higher wages and find their possibilities for sexual encounters widened considerably. This was Teddy’s story. He’d been transferred from store 590, in the next region over. Since beginning at store 286, he’d experienced a true sexual renaissance. Had Danny been more observant and less confused as he was being shepherded past cashiers and sales associates, he might have noticed the carnal bond between Teddy and a half dozen of their female coworkers. The way their gazes dragged when they met. Indeed, though Danny greatly enjoyed Teddy’s companionship and felt at ease in conversation with him, he harbored a pinch of envy in a little leather pouch hanging in the shadows below his heart. Women, they felt comfortable around Danny and liked to hug him or make jokes of a comically sexual nature. But with Teddy, they had brief, serious exchanges in empty aisles and next to sweaty cars after the store closed. It was never anything more than that, not anywhere near the store, for Teddy was professional. But Danny speculated on the private lives of his coworkers daily.
4.Danny’s first pet was a goldfish named Russell. Russell shared his bowl with a green translucent rock with rough edges, the way obsidian breaks, but you could tell by an equatorial seam that it was molded, and you could read on the bottom that it came from a factory in Lookingglass, Tennessee. Teddy’s step-great uncle Harmony Charwell was born in Lookingglass and spent his formative years there. When he was ten, the family house was burned to the ground because of the Ku Klux Klan. The family stayed with Uncle Bernard until the new house was built. Harmony and his cousin Wilbur were forced to share a room, and late at night they would compare their bodies. For Wilbur it was just play. For Harmony, it was a sort of sexual scribbling, testing color and texture, shape and quality of light. He ran his crayon outside the lines, haphazardly, clumsily. Then he tired of coloring books and longed for clean naked paper as big as the sky and a crayon that could in a single mighty stroke connect Tokyo and Nashville.
A car driver is startled by the way a male deer fucks a doe in the middle of a paved road
The car driver's trunk is filled with oblong utensils
The male deer fucks the doe fast
The car driver is so fast he knocks the male deer and the doe it is fucking into a ditch
The male deer is bleeding and now is fucking a dead doe
Half of the oblong utensils are smashed and worthless now
The driver realizes a sharp pine branch has obliterated his eye and the heat of the half-blind night is overwhelming
The driver stumbles into the ditch and comes to rest in a bed of irritating weeds
The male deer fucks to completion and now some of its sperm is in the dead doe
Confusion is felt as the male deer regards the injured car driver and an emergency man drives past on his way to another crisis
The male deer is barely injured and awkwardly removes himself from the ditch with the irritating weeds where the car driver reclines in pain
The male deer flees in search of another doe to fuck
The car driver waits amidst hallucinating heat and irritating vegetation
The car driver reclines in pain, pondering who can fuck, where they can fuck, and values of busted oblong utensils
copyright warning goes here, be threatening
