Incessantly Noisemongering Kaleidescope


Have you yet felt the unnerving propulsion of a barrel full of odd unions? These powerful joins are settling out from the tiny holes in the carriage, lacing the streets with their slant, and fooling even the wisest of world leaders with their connective tissue. Air pockets are out of control!

Time was, in the past during when such a time was, when odd unions couldn't get arrested. They'd be milling about on every street corner yet only be noticed by one in fifteen or more educated company men. Men with suits and ties. Men with the occasional venereal disease. The odd unions were left alone for so long that they became enraged.

Times changed. Odd unions discovered barrels to fill with themselves. Kind words began growing from every phallus, enumerations were made of wheelbarrows, sawdust, batter-fried nice guys, and dinkuses exposed too long to the misting winds. There was a ballgame starting, and fate was there to play. The referees stained the wood with such a color as had never before been seen, and they called it purple.

All of the names have changed but some of the people are really the same ones, maybe with some extra hair and a thing or two of old soup. Marshmallow flavored, gummy bears, already sold soil samples. They came to celebrate passionate calenders.

You'll never feel such a process. The barrels are in hiding, now, the odd unions left off of most street corners, saved up for a rainy occasion or a cock fight on Ninth and P. Unhinged office workers stare wistlessly into the impending fog of unchanging weekdays. A weekend will only come when they've finished cutting and pasting the same three code words a few million more times. "BASKET", "BUDNE", "OO". You can see them in the windows but they won't see you seeing. It goes around this way until you're tired and can't remember what you were doing here in the first place.

Pelt your shamefaced aimfulness, Nape. Things can only get older.

Customarily something along the lines of:

Brain eel
Corner Bar
Baker's Man
Pedal-worn Treadguard
Half that
Hi, Turtle
Fresh Dough
Impartially Observing
Square Root Cellar


Any less than that would not be a parking lot.

Lastingly Ensconced in Five Flavors,
Eblow Chaspian-Giles
Leversworth, Bed

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