Animal
Waiting to slip out
Can't ram it all back in
It ain't all roses trust me so I know your way I thrust the same motorized dildo up the same broad.
Your soul hurt

A bad metaphor okay
I said it though - THIS POST GETS BETTER BY THE LETTER.
Call me postal I deliver it when I'm supposed to
Bad to the core
Radical
Ya boy
I'm American
Proud of it.
In the mirror again
Staring
Into space unflinching
Floating out
Unflunch
Art decco? This guy's out to lunch. Late to dinner.
Ouch...someone pinched me back to reality. More like a punch to the face. Wake up punk. Change the channel. Remote control clinched tight.
Barely beamed back to the beach in time this rhyme
Beware the crime
But uptight feet tap to the upright beat position. The tray don't matter. I'm landing. Cloven. Understanding.
Like a monk in a convent
Slouched
Day three of a roving matter this masturbating couch potato never dreamed it would be outdated, dating in dark alleys or rather selling handjobs to the ghost of Dan Rather.

Let's all gather...
Lord I beseech thee, bitch
I got beamed back
In time for...timely timelines
But the time lines up
Butt fucked if I beam back out
Lines up my nose now? - FOUL
Crouch under the couch. Ouch.
Gross. Cackling. Ghost. Hacking. Chokehold on my poor dinger
Shackled the appendage my faculties upended.
Rented out. Tweaker. Totally naked.
Leering at the bearded, brainy, unsaved Jehovah's witnesse freak I see.

Unshaven.

Uh wait. It's me in the mirror. I blink.

Interwoven with beardy strains of growing, demoted from, "Fuck it, let's go rowing, down the creek," to shit "Oh no I'm drowning. The ship sunk. Shit."

Jerking off like a circus clown with a circle jerk act to keep his circle of friends to a minimum. Maximum power, diverting, showering. Training tigers. Wired. Blood covered, covorting uncomfortably, conversing normally with shadows. His eyes sallow. Some sordid sort of unformed fetus. A fetid abortion in bed laying dormant, fed up, scum filled and gasping. Poison gases. He himself passes off this hellform as a living human. But his shallow eyes stray wildly. Casting nervous glances side to side. Nervous gases fume inside the deaths eye view his morbid mind sees in a trance. Phased out. Foaming at the mouth, more of a microbial haven than individual. A shit stain. An unshaven sack of shit who is actin plain old wacky - out in space, full of shame, times up, interfacing sanity with psychosis raging, lane changing with no blinkers. What a psycho. A ghost. Eyes wide. Lies guide my way. Blinded. Lame ass sameness. I've tried this. Same old shit, new stain, this lame old grizzled wizard wears clean underwear.

But it's a pain in the ass, curb service sucks, where's the perseverance? Several persnickety little icky thoughts flicker. They fuckin lick my ass clean and stay there. Plunged. Their tongues. Yup. What. Chew up some gum. My whole asshole gets licked until inquiring minds made known quietly in time they fired me. What the fuck. You need to stay home.
Yo I never nutted. I spread the butter on the toast and then fed it certain customers.

These thoughts, they have tongues? For licking assholes.

Did I stutter? Stay with me. Putter on the first green I mutter.

Immersed in a twerp sandwich.

What?

Where's Waldo? The perp in stripes.

Don't fuck with WaIdo yo. That's all.

Severely stalled. Dreary time of year to sever a dick nearly. Metal gear solid.

Fair enough. Enough. Stop writing.

Error read: it's not me. I'm not there
Turning off the light
Breathing deep

Lost in the hospital
Approximately enough toxins were siffoned from my assauphygas and mustard gas processed off with a herd of other toxic agents I never heard of that surfaced from my mouth. Oxygenation of a great nation is my fight. My generation. Yay. I'm a degenerate. Center on the committee to cure my incurable rural cereal bowl delirium I murmur, "furbees burried the squirrel." Ain't no Hill Billy but I'll fit a racisy verdict into a certain case. A fit of calamity fated for my clammy, clam digging, trigger finger on my curious dinger. A pina colada in hand singing "I'm a sexy little Satanist" walking in sand. Sadist. Talking.

Y'all proximal or nocturnal? You like rock. I rock a like doctrine of skeet into sock, sir don't mock it the cotton is washable.

Wasabi. What? Sauce. Sobbing. Cops saw me.

"Hey baby. Do you like guys who are down? I mean, hang low. I've sunk to a new level, I'm a swinger I mean I sing along to Hellsongs and Hell diddies. Like grandmas titties. I hang low. Being tied up and degraded. I like flag waving. Rainbows and gay parades. Little faggot with aids. Hey, I died for pussy eating lesbos. I mean...I fought for pussy footed transsexual freak show peeps with HIV in Vietnam. To each I think - their own
Or Vienna. I like sausage. I'm an operatic operator, chunky. I'm chummy. I'm a lone ranger, a stranger with no rest, alone in a manger, tone dumb, tenor or lynrd skynrd are both winners. Can I finish? I watch Sopranos and waves wash over me. I float in the ocean inn a boat from Sarasota, Florida. Merrily. I merely serinade my first date as I stare at her fury gerbil from Arizona, verily. Disturbed, I pray to Yoda, handing her a cup of diet cyanide-laced soda. No motive. Toting a row but no rowing, flowing, not with the current current, that's absurd, I'm a recurring character, character driven. I'm shifty but not shirtless. Shift this. It's a gear shifter. Dicks up. Riding a tide so low, I know I'm bound to get dirty, not in a hurry. Shift that dick honey.

Land ho! Ho. Land. Go.

Get your ass to the curb.

For crying out lied. Greasy guy in a creased 'me so horny'  shirt asks if I talk to police.

Thorny question. In Borneo.
© JacobAlive