Inscrutable pageantries of absurdity written in penis dribble.
Suffocating details incrementally shifting.
Furiously procrastinating. Burning fuel by flying in circles. The modest pleasure of wresting a convincing argument by heaping scorn and unkind invectives. Transgression is the point, little girl!
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.
