[RhetoricThug]

Knit & abide RT's pride that died for that cumquat twat witch belittles my little fiddle swat. Puke bucket craft carving, for my jargon is gone (Left for some barbarian bargain bin, amongst other proletariat best-seller frands), jarred and under my reader's spell. Gulp humanity's twat down, gulp thy murky acidic pulp. Demon man loves this shit. It's usually hush hush unless one brushes red blush drinking.... heavily-type-cast-role/typical lush. Wishy washy squash unclean sheets, for premeditated plots of uncleanliness occur frequently when you're a fruit-toot-brain.

Brittle, brittle riddle Joke joke for dumb folk. Crack thy egg yolk, spill my spin quote. GIVE ME A NINER NINER TEN FIVER, hand diver poppa pig finder. We gotz ourselvez a real middleweight class champ. Tamped with protein beaming from the sold salad and slaughter ballad. Ream & Reap, vampire.

Heathendom nominates nothing boy' ear. Cheer, clap, set down your clear beer glass.

"Hey Mr. Prole Cult reaper, nice hammer and sickle!
I'm not sleepy and there is some things I'll be buyn too.
Hey Mr. Prole Cult Reaper, kill the kind for me
When the chest paddles fizzle and fry I'll be following you"


Speak easy eek , encourage blunder till thunder rains down to own every underling enraged. Each enraged sage is aged past credibility, you see, the plastic fixed perspective discredits the rear-view-mirror-mirage. Your history is anti-progress. Marriage in the fog, boggy monologue, do you and you, yes they sure do. I wish-ish-ish-ish, I love the ish and its lip lisp action, along with the shin of Tea.eye.oh.N words. Blink and the absurd slips silently past your carefully planned defense.

Every person's eyes are flashing, no rash cling Kong refusing to acknowledge the gong's bong. Hit that sucka and I guarantee you will reel like an amplified electric eel, peel an orange, peal-out-right, tell that sexy chick how you mastered your mind tonight. Nothings boy... Nothings right.

Zero

White space ight placed ace, when will it all end? God's grace seems to be misplaced. Place me under the misled, how come I have to be sentimental? How come I poop my panties? I guess I'll eat whatever is good. I eat things with my face and evolved features. Push a poo people trying to get logs of legal legislation. Surf that sail, I'll sip on pale ale then bail or abandon ship when the hip shits a brick of debt.

My hand goes to the vandal who handled Disney's lie guy, Walt, malt liquor helped steady the hand of a real peter pan. Did you know Micky Mouse is a work of fiction? Don't worry, old man winter had me fooled too. I once thought science=magic=science=magic, boy was I, right?

Not a thing Coy
Boy
Go back to sleep please



-RT

[onemalehuman]

anyone can see the end of insanity, but it takes a personal choice to stop acting crazy. Most times though, the supporting cast to both worlds have played the game so long nobody recogizes where acting crazy started and hoping the insanity could end.

Answer to both is now, always has been and forever will remain here in the moment nothing real stays what it was before arriving currently all the time one endures remaining self contained.