Langout

The rumbling in the pot turned the peas soggy in the dreams of the dogs memory about the first cities.
Stones raised through patient masturbation of the stolen arguments which left the cashier short in his final shift of life.
Columbia! Columbia! Goddess of cocaine, bless the child slave of the savage elite.
As the castanets symbolized the snake, so did the power lines symbolize ancient chains forged in communal ignorance.
The courts mocked themselves with professional exceptionalism the Mennonites were so famous for leasing through a Vatican photographer.
Interchangeable lenses made from the finest mists, and an accretion of a rented mules tears floating in the zero gravity of the space station.
When released from low orbit even pizza sauce stains the prophecies made in that old leather recliner that smelled still of that pipe tobacco the newsman smoked.
Radio commercials advertised a bagel dungeon, a stationary outlet with hostages left from the old furniture stores going out of business sale.
They sold the old cabin with the lobster when the river didn't freeze over that year keeping the tribes from lost Albion stealing the skunk apes teeth which it kept in a jar at the top of the highest tree in the abandoned McDonalds parking lot where that kid you went to school with shot up that dairy when his giraffe got a deadly S T D at sixty percent off.
The organizing, demagoguery, and reach around happy finish taught the fish to ignore the amazon best sellers list and go right for the magazine rack where they would examine the U P C and interpret their futures own barcodes.
After the volcano in the bathroom threw sand down the airliners ankle engine, the passengers refused to eat until Pluto was rightly declared a planet again, though they knew it was a trapped rogue moon.
It was just days ago, maybe minutes, maybe a string of moments like panels of glass stacked and acid stained with the gravy from the old ghouls table of torment.
There the sun can be seen 36 hours in a single rotation while the gift shop closes during the regular safety drills.
Nothing really changes in the sales rack of broken star systems.
The same old story told time after time of the time after time and after while. Time got old and it too died collapsing into a monad of infinite possibilities and free sauces to choose from limit two per contestant. All prizes are final and may result in death. Ask you doctor which corporation is right for you and give gloriously!
Tithe oh great consumer.
Be thee pure in thy willful ignorance, or one those shit stains that reads for fun and believes in self improvement.
Bobby has your key hole!
Which is why suicide is still considered cosmically funny and comes with a pack of mint cookies with fudge frosting and writhing lizards with frenzied cloaca.
Deconstructing the narrative through music.
NOT FOR SHEEPLE!
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