Einie's Haldol Tong War
I'm going to write a book. Binding first in the first house of the dishrag next to the 25sense, think too much! I term myself a naturalistic dobber, the little gnats squished on the ceiling and my ear terminal on human wax, works in Russia boot stupid, rewind. My canal is plugged and it would lead to suicide orgasms in vectors remaining the twat-blots. My cat likes the packs. Play-droids storm the post office. I want to write a book. But. I am immature in drugs. My cat likes the players in tune. Pop! My head like a zit and send it to Reaganotis, his drug wars for Helen/Nancy pukes the guts into mega-tonnage bliss, his war is his baneful lust for poor-litus! I negate myself in the very exact center of voidful nothingness and fill the gaps with color-rabies! I tend to eat my flesh too much. All the females love me. I'm the last mandroid on Terra. With a cock to fill the reddish plumage of the courtyard in dirty flecks. My old teacher stabbed herself, on her bed, reading her own bland titties. My world's slightly larger than it's not to be denied. Let the women scream and the men eat dead shit in hell, let the sweet angel-atheists brow your dits, let me screech across your paps, let the gooey mess of your memory ooze down the throats of the undead hordes of straits never attempted into choice, let me die in the everlasting light of the Davey Crock Bloods runnin' out of clips, let time machines be mass-marketed, let everything then be ultimate and fucked! The Fuck Dirge is my lord's prayer. Our Father in Fuck, hallowed be thy Fuck, our Fuck be cum and deliver our Fuck to love-lost on the plains of reclining DNA. It's too late for Colombo! This shorty is now lost in the everlining sequence of linked dreams. Fill the groins of artless bastards with green piss. Let them eat their olay-burgers after the gore-red-shit! Brewing big Ummumba-bumbas in the quadrant of the billion shuns.