The Art of Not Making Sense
 

I know how you all tickle the brick laden chickens of tomorrow, how you touch the faint scent of a fresh field induced coma. I say rubbish to those extraterrestrial actors of warehouse upbringings, you know who you are. I touch the newly painted kidneys of John Doe, you know the one. We are the ones of observation, stated backwards to knowing absolute. We make love to the black matter that is embedded in the forehead of Mr.Right, we talk gently in hollows.

Now, tell me this Mr.Genie "Why must we put forward those pick bands of coaster holes?". When the tinfoil unfolds in a hooked and nodding fashion, who are we? I sense a scissors-esque china fiddleman on the tip of my nose. "Who am I?" asked Johnny in a quasi-delusional state of nostalgia. Tell me Johnny, "Who am I?".

Really? the vast series of estrogen induced will come to eat upon the polyester. Tomorrow I say will windowpanes solve the anus of the many, and shag carpets will rise up against us all to seek their revenge they built a terricloth yacht to rush back to Lincoln logs.

The ostrich was only trying to get into your pants dude he didn't love you but now I ask "Does the ostrich seduce people because of his cocaine addiction or is he really just a huge TMNT fan. On an unrelated note jeans taste better fried in sock butter not fresh orange wood pulp with tattoos of John Major fighting gargoyles on their face but you have to ask is life made for washing swan neck or is it for something much darker like coffee flavoured fish pies which I heard that Rob Schneider had a fetish for but anyway my point is the violent pecking order that we originally name society is broken but is that a bad thing recent research in garlic cloves has proved otherwise. Also donkey penis.

Donkey penis? and I was talkin' 'bout the skin off my skin on skin. Flying like herrings straight into that ever oscillating orifice that is my kinetic pelvic energy. If it wasn't for our partial face grafts high-5 palm slides we'd be lock poppin' lips til yesterdays' pinwheel bullfront apostrophizing elks truck the **** out this marble slab.

Grapefruit? Negative flip-phone.

Womp.

Donnie Darko.. wait, what?

Why did the chicken crossed the road? Was it becuase he was being purpsued by the long arm of the law. "What's that white stuff on top of chicken shit?" asked the puzzled officier as he looked down at a stain on his recently polish black boots. "Chicken shit!" exuberantly exclaim the perp hand-cuffed in the back of his cruiser. "No I'm not!" said the chicken as he was dodging oncoming traffic "I just crossed state line, dumbass!."

Wow guys, way to make sense. You've totally not killed the point of this thread.

someone close this stupid ****