You know, the Turnip Queen has some legs. I know you can't cremate it, but I
don't want all of your money. All I want is somebody else's two front
teeth. Is that so much to ask? Seriously. She just walked into my
kitchen and started putting things on my cake. I don't even know why she
would want the couch cushions. I'm like a hostile smartphone resting cozily in the
smoldering embers left over from last night's sneezing contest with the
mole people. These are keyboards, people. Stop eating them.
Somebody
wants your nope. But you can't the grapes because they housing my
parents. It's like a completely intentional accident, with bad-smells insurance. That is to say, some politics don't
make cents, and that's okay because I forgive you. It's not your fault.
It's somebody else's fault. Now let's leave before there's an
earthquake. I think this fault belongs to Madrid. She has a puppy! But it's in a coma.
Every evening, Mr. Glockenspiel stares at ramen noodles and thinks to himself, "...Scarecrow's brain?"
Storytime!
Once upon a time, there sat a human. The human wondered how he could sit
upon a time, since times aren't tangible things, thus nobody could ever
actually sit upon one, at least not within the physical limitations of
the known material universe. I like telling stories to sauce. Piles of noses became
presidents of fat pigeons, and my children bounced beside a slappy
gentleman with extra heads. I am calling the police.
Duct tape solves everything, except world hunger, because it's not a particularly good idea to eat anything adhesive. That's why I can't pharmacy. German Hank flies in the Untitled Document with a big spoon. Randy Pachyderm flies around the United Plates with a chicken costume and gets shot. Sorry, Randy. I have nothing to my name but a single wooden plank. A plank named
Florbie. All the children point and laugh at me, and call me Mr. Plump.
Just this morning, a state senator visited my house just to tell me,
"Sometimes you make smell." And then he just left. Afterward, I left the
house because it wasn't actually mine. All I have is a plank.
So the reason I haven't been posting on this website is I was busy all summer, disassembling people's alarm clocks, and then eating the pieces. It's a good idea to just scream until the milk ferments and leaves you with a cardboard box full of politics. Just make sure your cousin's nose doesn't use the touch screen on your phone, because if she becomes a muppit, we will all wiggle our arms like jellyfish. Frantically. The most philosophical thing I've ever said is "Lollipops float around fat people with fragrant earlobes. Who wants some babies?" And that's when I tripped over pancake and somehow skipped a generation, where two different mushrooms got the same subpoena in lieu of Lou, the oxymoron.
Welcome to the Nether Portal! Where all your dreams congregate and stare at each other in eerie silence.
No, dalmatians are not indigenous to airport toilets. But they are covered in dry wet floor signs, and that's something you can't forget. The only way you can toss crumpits is if you are British, and everybody knows she can't operate without a patient. I don't print money. I use cursive. And that's why I'm the most successful skin cream this side of the Pacific Crock Pot. Babies, babies, babies.
This isn't Candyland. This is just poop.
