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Fallen to my knees like a sleazebag, teabag these teasing slags with three hands full... of teabags. Teat-Bags Full. Yes Sir Yes Sir, Skull and Crossbones, anarexic crossdresser. Ewww.gross.youkeepthoseclothesinadresser.blogspot.com. Please don't put a space between these words NG, don't strip me of my human rights, this huge mane hides inhumane writing. Not really, this head is receeding, like a torrent file. Wild Jack Torrence, Gene Wilder and Florence Nightingale all fighting for stale bread and water. Trying everything to keep a three-headed Cerberus above water. Failing, Flailing, this swimming lark is not plain sailing, unless you're a grayling. The Lady of the Stream, or was that Ladies being Streamed on XTube? XNude, sex, lube, flexed boobs, let's do the next two sex scenes, soon. Spoons. Spoonerisms, super prisons, lift the lid, Snoopers, PRISM. People at the NSA have cocks and pussies too. Noone is exempt from The Continuation of Lunacy, except those loons at sea who died trying to escape from Alcatraz. Who wouldn't? Humans weren't supposed to be confined to cages, resigned to take less pay than the minimum wage is. Its like we're moving back through the ages, set the stage up for Civil War. Anything but Civil, that false drivel is driven home little by little. Repeaters, designed to eat and ebb away your freedom metre by metre, until you're eating bird feed out of a Petri Dish. You're starving and survival relies on eating those dead foetuses. Fiendish Findus Penises, I'm serious, the only means of getting nutrients from the semen drips. You may think ol' Nietz is joking, that he is just poking fun and stroking his ego, but he ain't the Archetype of a hero. He's just a bum, strumming out these grim words with his fingers and thumbs. You think this is glum? You ain't seen gloomy. These words need discharging to make this head more roomy. So new thoughts can bloom and assume the space of the previous occupants. Keep your cock in your pants, you fucked up, it must be from when you had implants in the Occult. But Nietz is an adult he doesn't need to consult with the manual to watch Emanuelle in America. Sane man with insane thoughts to entertain those who entertain, thoughts. Do No Harm, keep calm in the face of thralldom. Fun if you're getting whipped by a tall domme. Sold your Soul to Satan the Slaver to Savour the flavour. Later she released a Statement to the public that she's just had a good lick of your luscious soul. Succulent Succubus. That's right, Satan is female. Never saw that one coming. Plot Twist, you can't stop yourself, you have to jot this down. You can't stop this now. Thoughts are artistic, no matter how uncharacteristic. These clots are brown. NG a logbook to drown our sorrows, tomorrow's woe is ancient history. International Man of Mysterious Misery. Our very our Mr. Chastain, cast into a world of everlasting pain. But Nietz has a blast furnace up his sleeve. He has to look past the past and become as successful as Thomas Nast. Instead of being a chastised social outcast. He's seen how fast things can change, from the clinking ring of chains, to a string of changes. An outspoken rookie more fragmented than a broken cookie. Kentucky and Pepsip. A pep pipe, a car without brakes driving with no headlights. Deeply rooted trauma, Scar-Mangled-Mannerisms, but without the stammer r-r-r-r-isms. Heartbeat racing, protean thinking, the naughtiest inking of thoughts shrinking as they commit to paper. Like a queue of imps stood in line waiting their turn to spawn mayhem. Its easier to write them than it is to say 'em. Fresh thoughts. Fresher than the female flesh of a French fresher thrashing and gyrating, eyes skating, hypnotised, giving her a high rating. Mind racing, watching this sexy succulent slice of rind bacon. She's looking at mine as one from a line of Lincolnshire sausages her mind has taken hostage. At one With One's Self Now, at ease, painting words on this Easel. Words are my Desert Eagle, in fact the desert's peaceful, its hot but not contaminated with other people. Nietz Like the Rural Life, no war, he's taken a neutral side. Fight between yourselves guys, I'ma just sit at the side and watch the birds in the skies. Nietz despise violence, except in writing. An inner sanctum O'Brien can't take from Me.