when they both turn around and gurn into the heavens it’s sure as tangible that wayward strop has descended from the art school and behind the iron curtains a black rollerball is scribbling pith onto a catalogue that’s free if you only come in. it’s a struggle to convince me that your black arms are like that because you just couldn’t help it. I know what you’re like. it was too funny not to let him rub you upwards with the bin bag around your waist and even then you bleached 66 until we could no longer salvage it. not even with persil
unmapped errant behaviour repeats until necessary. you stick a sponge in the cleft of st andrew and then the half-size bent over people tripped down the stairs into a balloon from barcelona. but this is weeks away. right now I’ve not been out for 4 weeks because you’ve had organs removed and so I don’t even care if I get run over. I made my excuses, but they still gave me a voucher and now that it’s all up for sale, I have to dribble through a confit of jus with a medley of canard offal just to get our money’s worth. it’ll probably turn into a pie shop from lancashire. then who’ll be laughing?
I’ve 2 minutes left. I just got a new access number. I’m programming my phone. I’m wearing dead man’s shoes.