Saturday, March 26, 2011

Le Pouteen the five thousand

In the day I decided to jump out of the hovering harrier jet (operated by the british army), I jumped. I enjoyed the fall. It lasted for a few seconds. In the mean time I called the local.

Jeez H Christchurch. I changed my whole outlook during that hover. So fruitful... I can't express. I'm sorry.

I would rather have my skull dragged against the street in Zurich. Unfortunately, that's not possible because I don't have a lambo at my disposal at the moment. In this current time and place I have whores and money.

All I wanna do is set loose upon that expanse. Phoenix, Arizona ruined me for all the men.

I wanted something important. God. God? God? God? I've soiled my pants.

Waking as an addled man does, Geoffrey Pepsi feels as if, thinks as if, in the manner of speaking in which the subaltern engages, that his face is tearing away. He is half-almost-correct. "Hello?"

in the end, the protagonist, dies. He was survived by his daughters I guess. No one knew he was.

and who cares. Et tu sedet carnum bellum scapulum lambo.

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