Thursday, July 30, 2009
They melt, a penguin tux to ashes. Close.
Look at those stars. The Dormouse would look. I have looked upon occasion, preparing for preparatory participation in preliminary proctor parties, that these pants are drowzee. How drowzee.
In three days I flew a coup I will. There will be hangtime party at the institution of that name. I will rejoice and relax into oblivion. I will be blaze. Reading theology of the jewery.
Monday, July 27, 2009
I hath shriveled most profusely, my condiments of glory, used up and replaced with empty plastic good fer nothin's. My cohort jangle, jingled his proud jangle at last, and heaved a heavy stout pickle.
it was salty as my tears. Our guise was revealed. my bruce wayne of sorts. our grapish ruse is but a raisin.
We were as millers, beering out philanthropy amoungst the webs, Though i a steward, watching the condor of gondor still wait for a next time to rally my vice once again...