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HELLO GRUEL WHIRL
Put to sleep instead of being kept aware, leapt up in bed after the drugs wore off for half a day - dream. You didn't let us finish the plot, this could have all been wrapped up and finalised in style... It all could have been achieved, instead there were grievances and hinderances.
Sick of hearing about Pfizer, pfft is the sound I make like certain provisos and scenarios that must occur when watching Game of Thrones. I'd rather watch Sloane Stephens slay opponents, opwnents. These peculiar oculars attempt to articulate, awkwardly focused on untoward moments. Prone to bear witness to pain and cause me to be scared witless again. The bear bit this nitwit and then drained his blood. Fictionally. A fictitious pair - of tits. Its the most absurd shit I've heard all day, except the incessant whir of traffic 'Out There' like the truth that Mulder couldn't find. The truth is not hard to find, like Ralph, Fiennes or Wiggum. The truth is scary like Boko Haram or Yokohama bombings. That's why you shouldn't worry over small things, like money, or that dream you had when you were falling. Or that night when you were hauling a full crate of swollen testicles to Shady Acres. That's the last favour you do for unsavoury troublemakers.
Like that guy who says 'why don't you take a seat over there?' and if he didn't say it, somebody made him say it... Put words into his gob like forcefeeding Alphamabet Soup, which was a coup in itself seeing as he didn't like to be cooped up in that claustrophobic shack with a slack jaw eating that crap while it was being shovelled down his throat like that ridiculous omnipresent crunk music that filled up the room of the Supermarche, while I filled up the trolley with junk food, which made a troll roll his eyes from side to side like Emilie de Ravin in a sexy way... But the Troll wasn't sexy, as that thing moved its eyes to and fro.. Maybe that Troll was double bluffing me, but I wasn't rolling on the floor laughing my motherbrothersisterfatherfuckin' ass off. No way son, I was pissed! Alcoholically... NEW WORD ALERT! Wait.. its not... That was close like that time when a door slammed shut. Or that time I slammed a slut, damaged her hut then stole her llama, as well as the Boy's Striped Pyjamas, all in the same instance of breath.. The very same intake like a fat Gym teacher who shouts "is everybody here? Let me take some names." Fuck you mo'fucker! Why do you have to be so thorough! When the fire alarm went off, why did we stand outside! There was no fire! Another one of those fucking false alarms so that you could have us all stood outside here, in a line... Before all of a sudden we broke into some really gay Glee or Fame dance... In the pouring "Mad Dog" rain for doggness sake! My limbs are aching like Clay Aiken's asshole. Clay Airyu isn't complaining... Neither is Lai Ning. Is this Fire Drill some kind of mind game? To prevent us from being singed by the fake flames, like flaky fameseekers... I'd rather be a truthseeker and get my wisdom tooth seen to before infection sets in.. The roots need to come out, like the origin and tonic of Hip Hop... A Quest called Tribe that made me mistype... For why? Shits and Beer Goggles from the Innovations Catalogue... Whatever happened to those X-Ray Specs? I was sold a lie.. I WAS SOLD A LIE! Now is the time to go to bed and cry, wishing I was dead like a Fly on the Wall - Documenterry HQ, because everybody hates you [not me.. him.. Terry] and damn man, Nietz niets some pain relief, not bas relief, from this snapped Wisdom Tooth, now I can't drink Schnapps because of ulcers and chapped lips, resigned to crap raps, time to collapse, but I say its not over until the fat guy sings.. But what if the fat guy can't sing? Maybe he can only mime or suck balls like Cheryl Cole... DaYuM like the Day of the Terrific Triffids or that day that my Mum hid the rum truffles just to ruffle a few feathers. Must have been some kind of hiding chocolate fetish... Who cares if you curse? Because Who is fronting the anti-profanity march which will outlawe all potential combinations of horrific letters like F U C K and C U N T... "What harm did shapely letters ever do to you, you fucking cunt!" That man was then chased down with spears, javelins, shot putts and tennis racquets and then beaten to within an inch of his life. One more inch further and he would have perished like pre-watershed Peri Peri chicken advertisements. Junk food is unhealthy I hear. But not as unhealthy as trying to interfere in the lives of others. Some would say that you don't have a life of your own when you interfere and meddle in the lives of others... So fuck you while I eat this slab of bacon...... OWW MY HEARTTT!! Always whinging about the world population getting too big, tough poo poos, shouldn't have invented modern science and cures for basic illnesses then! You've only got yourself to blame like John Wayne G when he murdered 33 or dressed up like a circus freak circa 1973.
Time to step on the pedal and pump like women in high heels who might steal a car and drive it into a wild field at night, while the thunder and lightning is peaking like a scared duck too afraid to leave the shelter... We must go hell for leather like Heather who will go to hell for wearing leather shoes. Or have her achilles tendons severed so that it creates a mouth on which a face is drawn like pulling a 10 pound note so that the Queen has down syndrome or a post-stroke smirk... Whoa man, too much man, you shouldn't have used that crowbar to prise off the lid, look at all that green foam spilling out now Mr. Spilman. ARGUS is gon' get cha mo'fucker! I'm not afraid of ARGUS, I'm more frightened of something being out of stock at ARGOS. ARGHHHOS. Like an Operating System created in the early 1700s by a wily old Coyote called Wily, he was Ugly, but didn't care, unlike Darkman who hid in the shadows listening to The Shadows... And the sound of his own voice echo co co co co co ing... Like Ecco the Dolph Lungrin who had a supreme lung capacity allowing him to hold his breath underwater using his hands. But why would you hold your breath underwater using your hands I hear you ask? Nah Nietz, those were just the voices inside your own head asking... Fuck off, punch yourself in the temple, while Shirley stands on standby, until you press the standby button and she comes to life like when Blade reviewed one of my songs and said "She comes to life" Really? Life is what makes her cum? The Game of Life is just a Trivial Pursuit at the end of the day, you got to cum to anything, Cum Ba Yah My Lord. Or poke a Nord in the eye with a sword for teh lulz because you were bored... You were gored by Al Sharpton in the groin with a Sharpie marker while you were stark-naked, then raped until you became part braindead. I Want Out of this life, give me a new Character, I want to be reborn as a sadistic Senator, more sadistic than Ten Haters all put together into one botched human experiment gone wrong motherfucker... But seeing is believing, don't believe me? Excuse me then, I'll just be taking my shore leave... As well as Eve's droppings. An unstoppable Beezer and Topper tsunami I find alarming like a missing arm up the rectum of a cow exiting the mouth like a five-fingered udder.