| Upon his Infernal Majesty's imperial request, Hell's Hee-Haw See-Saw will not be played tonight on xylophone. The writing must remain smartly compact in Sir's effort to explain paper. Artillery rounds will not be used, as well. Fornicating in the streets will not be permitted, but just this once. An apt charge will be set and the guards will eventually have their say. Almost Midnight will be the time. Articles of clothing will shed their weight and ride out some hulking, thunderific storm. Mountains will glow with the asphalt we spread amongst those living in the spots closest to the sea. A martyr is born every five seconds, but the alchemist lives forever. Fighting will break out on the Ozark Plateau. Cardboard boxes will be spread and strewn about the face and floor of some dilapidated warehouse. Somersaults will be done. Gourds will be shot out of canons into oncoming traffic lanes. A sprite will believe it's Right and take the boardroom to a whole new level. Eighteen people will high-five seventeen other people and the one who gets two will brag to the bank teller. Massive amounts of liquid soap will be drained in front of Plexiglas columns of sheer delight. A groove will be rung around four different sparing partners. Exclusives will retaliate in a bunker somewhere off the coast of Somewhere Else. The Miller will grind his big brimstone hat between a chamois cloth of utter destruction and something hard. Some sort of weird amalgam of pennies and plastic chew toys will shutter to think of the consequences of said actions. Pimps and purveyors of Pimps will line streets of platinum and gold with aborted jokes and scary-looking newsprint journalistic tirades on the price of beef broth and why the weather isn't fun anymore. A din of rejection and apathy will ring through the Quad as some sort of degenerate folk hero prances about on a tin horse with copper feet. Mothers will discipline their daughters for spilling bean soup to keep the dog from chewing on the cat. Some semblance of order must be relived. Genitals will bleed of their own accord. Milky cereal had its raisin-tastic day in the shade. The Score Settl'r will settle the score. Microscopic tentacles will grab a hold of some big wad of cash and then spend it on diaphragms and cotton candy. Lights will shine only on things worth hearing about. Blatant disregard will be held with deepest and sincerest apologies to all involved. The effect will become the cause and a hat will cost fifty cents. The rain will shine a pocket full salt. The curtains are already whet. I hear the music... |