Spooky Stole My Noodle
scanning the floor for leftover appendages.


Tuesday, December 17, 2002  

And their crown would come down, on top of a head. Like sausages, cold and onion, well into the next expected time period. The least it could do is become not gold, but some other sort of a surface, akin to dishwater, splotchy.

Then teams of scientists would stand on first base and shout, "Out! He was out!!! He was fucking out!!" And plastic-helmetted men with brawny bellies would storm out of a concrete bunker to beat the teams of scientists about the ears, eyes, and last week's tomatoes with their wooden and/or aluminum fish.

You would be pasted this way in a heartbeat, beneath the scraping jelly.

posted by Kingo Sleemer | 5:19 PM
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