Inscrutable pageantries of absurdity written in penis dribble.
A tenuous malaise on the outs.
Dolefully denigrating an ever-unraveling farcical contrivance. The warm glow of victory running down your legs. You can't plan for those things! A terribly humdrum pensiveness pawing through layers of intuitive evocations, shitting tulips all day, summarily executed.
Humorless curmudgeon. Dandy, vagabond, sexpot to the hilt. A carefully considered complexity creaking under the weight of cutesy heartsick coos and disfigured jelly dongs carousing the delicate swarms of dream-logic ganglia or whatever.
