zounds! these bloody… won’t stop.

irriatiate these crunchy moth balls. i’m serious. the clavicles are dancing the carinado

filthy factorials. i mean, not filthy, just covered with sawdust, or maybe some ta-tt-t-t-troll dust. i mean, ashes. ashed out.

but forget the troll dust, me hearties, when you’re trapped inside an icecube, there’s not a lot of salve for that bleeding. don’t let all the good luck pour out of that there shoe…. enough.

faced with such bisected (trisected) chaos. is there anything to do but wonder? i’m all about those freedom monkeys and their freewheeling freestealing ways. when will the fuddyduddys go away?

turn your booko, sketch some. is there any sweet relief?

even though on the surface, it’s all burning… what really squalors underneath?

(big bites, big bites. chew)

7 thoughts on “zounds! these bloody… won’t stop.”

  1. Additionally: that’s making me want to go waste some money buying some Flash authoring software so I can start some things and not finis them. That first link is a doozy.

  2. About score: I don’t know. Don’t know. We periodically have said somethings about sleep paralysis, because you had a thing where that was in a list of search requests. I think.

    It’s always possible that I’ve made up my entire history in my head in the last five minutes while trying to figure out who I am, though.

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