Guala Lumpur eek eek!

O o g a C h a k a O o g a c h a k a
Slug worm raiders racing through the night,
controlling rampant bladders is a futile plight.
Owning only bars of gold and fragrant wheels of cheese
one will cry a languid sob whilst retching on its knees.
If all my dogs were puppies, then one would be a bitch.
For writing this atrocious someone should eat my gitch.


X


Slapped in the head with a linoleum tile armada, my head pulses ravaged by time and the passage of money through fictional hands of discontent. Could the pain be any slower? In the absence of voices my true scream emerges. Silent. Silent and throbbing with rage. Terror bleakens and gallops fiercely away from the horizon towards my lonely cliff face. Edging closer, the prepice is nervous. Hoping I won't fall, therefore giving it a bad, unimaginative name like, "Deadman's Drop."


X



Tick tock goes the clock!
Smish Smash goes the hammer!
-sigh-


X


Tasty morsels of TTC operators populate this pixellated cantankerous ramshackle home. Eagerly depicting the grasping and pulling. The struggle being one of regret and disenchanted bickering found only betwixt the rails.


X


After that it was easy to fall into bed with him.
"Why? Because he said you should write a screenplay?"
"No, because his hand was a snake! Grrrooarr!"


X


Protect yourself. Get your family shot.
Call: 1-866-FLU 'N YOU


X


International monsters creating conspiracy driven children screaming into cellphones, banging on the TV screen, dextrous thumbs manipulating 5 digit parents. 700 dollar singing and dancing phones will send a picture of my glorious ass crack anywhere in the world in digital colour if I buy a two year plan. What will you do?

Hello?
I'm on the bus.
Be there in 5 minutes.
Bye.


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