frocked gas wheedle sticky rhymes and
crunch their teeth to rice.
"It's such a joke to eat these blackened taxis,"
shouts the rubber nose from behind the slammed door.
"I think that floppy cubes of impacted quintuple
stout should granny up the choppy supper!"
Your toys are starving in the rafters, spiking
paranoid mothers and pricking fat, ruddy butts
until the courts dismiss all news of late
volcanoes and comic voicemail warnings. It's
the pope regaling low-wage menu makers with
plump and hairy wisecracks. I can attest that
nuclear Tylenol snuck its kelp-smelling
windjammer through a wrinkly albino toad so
that half-inch visibility stopped the lube from
sinking into its numb job. The slop bowl of
your face is aswim with desperate trash you
cackled tight and squeeze from the
pimples 'neath your cheeks where rubber
cowboys please themselves with stallions'
whorishly dancing nosepickings kept in time by
bald canoe-riding nuns.
