Squirt it out on the counter. Clean it up. Pick it up. Smear it on the grave.

I’m a scumbag with a taste for adventure. Watch me collect dust on my wicker chair, as my thighs grow numb over the course of hours of physical inactivity. Like Big Foot, you may per chance to see me scratch my nose, but only rumors now are circulating of such an occurrence. Cocoa Crispies are much crunchier with cockroach legs. I haven’t seen a paycheck all month, but working for a private prison company has it’s perks. I breathed the same air as Mitch McConnell. I think I’ve been turning into a turtle. But I’m a frog, see. I smoke cigars. Is there anything as resplendent as the sound of soup pouring into a garbage can? I can think of nothing. Chili tastes exceptionally cold from a long-refrigerated container, but can I spell this well while drunk. Thank you jagged red lines. I’d like to make my own jagged red marks, but I guess that’d be selfish according the ethics of my consciousness. Cocoa Puffs cut my gums, but there’s something alluring about pink milk. Can’t you see that my teeth are perfect the way they are? I haven’t seen a vagina in months, but my dreams tell me it’s harder to piss the bed with a boner. So there’s that. What is a guy supposed to do when all he ever wants is to disappear in a blood smear. Thank god for jagged red lines. The red lines don’t believe in God. god’s just fine for them. Take it from me, everything’s taken from me. I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. I’m just a grain of Cocoa Crispy in a ocean of Cocoa Puffs. Enough is enough. I’m calling my bluff. Fuck it, kick the bucket. Gravestone domino rally. Listen, pally.

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