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THE BEAUTIFUL SQUARE ONE
If we can't have a laugh, what can we have? Life should be funny, a treat to the earlugs and eyeballs. A continual adventure of overtures and slip-sliding in manure and having no fewer than 900 expeditions in the blink of an eye... Or two. You have two eyes? Ain't you the lucky yucky rubber ducky one? All I can hear is the chanting of the Sovngarde, and Kirsten Flipkens being nursed by a tennis physio. A strange combination of combi locks and grey-haired comb overs, which don't make sense like soaking wet Drystone Walls. What do I have to do to Drive Home the message that the massage parlour was shut down? I'm driving home the message? I thought he was the designated driver, I'm just the hated driver. But a born survivor who can serve returns against Ivan the Terrible. He was terrible at everything that guy was, he couldn't even pick up a knife and fork to eat without dropping them. I turned around and I says, "Ivan, you are fucking terrible at everything. You're not good at anything at all." But he did do a superb job of killing me though. So credit where its due. I do blame the mercury poisoning though. It affected his mind state.
This mind state is great, highly-rated, sought after like Ali's Boxing Gloves. What's with all the glove love, all this fuss over Danny Glover's grub?
This beef is worse than automated madness on Robot Day. Where you Know Not To Say the wrong things.
Don't walk away, Don't flick the moth from the screen. "He'll live." In 150 years thyme, we'll all be immobile skeletons, skeletonne, helter skelter in sweltering heat wearing Skechers company uniforms. But we don't want to conform to this coniferous plant that was a planted seed in our minds that grew without water. Survived the Trauma of smelling horrible aromas that put people into... coca-comas. Nietz is hopeless, an helpless dopamine addict, tangled, wrapped in a Star-Spangled Banner and then rolled down a hill like a giant spliff image captured as a gif. file. A £25 iTunes gift voucher that you can waste in one day on all the songs you hate, then you have to loop and play them daily, to the day Lee from Leigh visits your house and presses the STOP button, before you can STOP them from drinking VSOP - ASAP. I want to B SLAP those fools with their own palms. That makes me unaccountable for YOUR actions. Sue me Susie, Sue-Z, wife of Jay-ZZZ. I wanna be forever young. He'd do anything for Heather Young. Land of the Giants! Now you're talking my era Nietz! We need to eradicate the problems of yesterday - today, or delay it until tomorrStingRay. Maybe we just like stringing you along, an invested reader in this seedy shit, what did you expect? Love and Roses? Ain't going to happen, not until the day that I'm eating food with a silver napkin, or become retarded like Katie Hopkins. Pump acid into her rectal passage - doggerel style. Maybe someone should slap her face repeatedly to the rhythm of the Oxygene 4 song, then force her to give Doggoral sex. Just sayin'. Just playin'. Banterweight, at a canter, enter the cancer centre and spend an entire day firing half-hearted neglectful MacMillan nurses. Villains in quaint villages eating pheasant and grouse, pleasant like Donald Pleasence and other random people who entered the pole vault competition and slipped, thus rupturing a disc. I'm disgusted by the discus discussion or the fiscal sadism, or the upcoming Storm in the Teacup, how much milk? No, I didn't say Teat Cup you imbecile!! I'mbecile You'rebecile, We'reallbecile. We're all worried about the lump not being benign, I'm benign myself with worry. It'll be nine years before we get benign tumours. Live for the day, this is what I say, you can have a job, low or high pay, it doesn't matter, happy or irate, trapped in a life state of mild stale vile hate. I'm sat sweating like Chernobyl scientists and three-eyed catfish.
Churning out blogs utilising stomach-churning content as a means of venting a combination of feelings that one spent wallowing in for far too long. Fa Tulong, the triple jump champion for the last five years. Fuck I'm sweating so much I'm wetting the chair. Its creating a sense of mild irritation as I sit in this cheap blue deckchair that threatens to collapse at any moment... Hopefully it will survive a few more da....jwidhw hwhuejsa fucker! I just fell on my arse.
Each and every day I give another small piece of the pie, but why you ask? Why anything? Why search at the bottom of the ocean for the giant squid? The answer is simple like the Scarlet Pimpernel who snarls like the pimp from hell he is. He doesn't let Scarlet scarper out of his sight. She doesn't let those scars heal. I feel enough time has passed, move on, don't let the hands pull you down. They got me, dragged me into despair, the Doldrums, make your own bed they said. Nobody was listening, except these binaural frequencies, cold thoughts, freezing, coughing and wheezing, the bleakest of the bleak, let the past go my friend. The past WAS my friend, now we're faltering like a blind hawk in falconry. Please for the love of Dog, stop pulling the rug out from under my blistered feet. Give me one last ounce of strength to drag my weary frame out of the Hole of Plummet. I need to reach the Earth Summit. Jump and stretch and tear my tendons, reverse my sentences secnetnes ym esrever. Whatever doc, you can suck the cock of the Transvestite wearing that frock. Nurturing nurses, stretch marks, Wuthering Heights, random words, say what you like, gas, foot on the pedal, dubstep... Now we're good, getting back into business, thoughts colliding overriding now there's something conclusive to work with, thoughts colluding, alluring, alluding to something much more than Wonderland Syndrome. Energy levels returning, like a Blockbuster DVD... But Blockbusters has closed down here due to the austerity, how have they the audacity to relocate to Auda City, which is next door to Noun Town. In Auda City, you can ride whales, chew baked beans made from steel, you are free to pursue any activity and eat Activia. Fucking HAIL MARY, where did the time go?!?!?! What happened to the NG Family? Did we get disbanded like this band that got dissed and branded arseholes by the arse bandits? The last time our band had a hit was Some Men like to see the World Burn. I'd hate to see anything burn. I'd hate to see the side burn, trim them!!
Kust Jidding, Nietz just slides from one disaster to another HAARP-related catastrophy with alarming menace. I'd rather live in the Mendip Hills or Blagdon, then eat plankton and play pranks on stinky children. Random indeed. Pay the Ransom Fees, man some of these prices are extortionate, extraordinary. I don't want to pay any fees, especially the bail to secure Joanne Lees release. Seize her, I think I'm having a seizure. She Sells Seizures on the Sea Shore. What for?!?!?! Who knows, she's a fucking lunatic, needs locking up and the key throwing away. It must be the key to her condition, or hair conditioner which unlocks the potential of a full frizz. I remember there was a girl called Kizzy Proctor, and she was so fucked up, she would have needed more than a doctor to save her bacon from the Doldrums.
Anyways I'm in the throes of ecstasy and I motor at extra speed. Even though my feet are sore and blistered from walking in sweaty heat. There is an heatwave in the UK right now, "give us a wave Mr. Heat." -- "Hi everybody. This country is a joke, heatwave? Have the newsreaders tried going to Djibouti? Their weather is fucking Djibrutal. 90F!! said the news headline, in red coloured font and a big yellow sun positioned behind it. Scaremongering, I prefer Idon'tcaremongering. These fucking mongrels are always wrongrel. Russell Brand proved that.
You gots to brush up on your skills Mr. Lawe, Its time to step up your game and drain those creative fluids from your brain again. You can't forever remain traumatised by vicariousE's run-in with the dreaded Kidney Stones. They should be called 'yougottabekidneyin' me stones?'To overcome the pain, all that is needed is some grit and determination (well not grit) and plenty of fluids. How can holding a Flu ID card help anything? I mean drink water, but not under the bridge, the bottled stuff that you keep in the fridge, man. The one without the flouride and lime. The one without the warning sign that says DON'T DRINK... I think. Shit I think I mixed them up!
He's Nietzmire... Giggidy Giggidy... Nothing has changed... except this woman in the cubicle... I smell an upskirt! -- "Not literally Jenkins, get ya nose out of there!" -- "Durr, I'm sorry boss." There is no need to sound like Rocksteady or Bebop or any zombified employee who just follows ze orders and eats all the Hors d'oeuvres before other random fingers can inch their way onto the testing plate. Would you like a sample? Of what? My urine, fools!! Drinking piss? Only the Drink King could achieve such a feat, with their tongue inside the meatus. Jesus! That guy is one sick puppy! It would be okay if he was to lick pussy. But I guess he's not a fussy eater, still... at least he's feeling lusty and eager to get the job done like a true professional. What would you rather happen Mr. Lawe?
I'd rather get bitchslapped and forced into witchcraft. "Which craft?" -- "Writing please." I'm sure that can be arranged, like beer bottles in an OCD person's fridge. All facing the correct way ----> STOMACH. That alcohol has gone straight to my brain, quicker than a freight train. Yet I'm teetotal. Work that one out. Why can I smell cigarette smoke? I don't smoke. Why are Nicola and Tina invading my nostrils? Why all the questions? Why all the palaver? Why all the tennis matches on the Rod Laver arena? I'll tell you why folks, its because it feels beautiful sliding down that snake onto the Beautiful Square One. A place where life is simple, not complicated by the rigours of mortis or being forced into a high-tech prison fortress and forced to eat Roquefort cheese. I don't want to eat cheese, I only want to wax it. Please let me wax some cheese! Its my last request on Death Row before they fry me on the Eclectic Electric Chair, which will not only singe my whole body hair, but the shock will also send me to the man upstairs. No, not God.. The man upstairs, some Priest holding a whip apparently. I didn't agree to any of this!
Its too late now, life in the Doldrums is a permanent fixture for this unknown quantity. An abnormal human anomaly, that can't even communicate properly except through the medium of written word. Psychological barriers, but happy as Larry... Not Larry King because he suffered from depression.