Green Yesterdays

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“Mainstream”, more like “MainPissStream”, right?

For real, who needs mainstream.

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Ball Park Frank on Your B Day

Compacting it until it sizzles, Hot Rod Hostesses will ache.  Pie or tentacle, muscles sweat and spasm under the floodlights.  Bring the butter out.  We will place it inside the buttcrack.  Nose or alien, the butter melts and creates that aroma.  When the stick is gone, are we prepared for high stakes sodomy?  Does a weasel like to beg?  The answer, my fellows, is blowing in the wind.  But though the action was significant, none left satisfied.  Compact it until it breaks.  Next time, try full throttle sod games with one who loves you in return.  But to find them?

Put the melted butter on a frank, and stick it up your bunghole.  Does this satisfy?  You’re a person with dreams, with aspiration- a person who experiences strong passions.  More than this is not safe for me to assume.  But as such, how can sport with hot buttered buttwiener have you satisfied for more than one brief, shining moment?  When you got the dawg up in there where poop yet lurks, you got it good.  But you also got it mediocre.  Because that’s exactly when you remember things.  May you remember your baby?  I don’t know, I can’t say.  But it is at these times, I believe, that you best understand the nuns, and why they do the things they do.  Please- correct me.

To know a person, it takes a lot.  It takes more than an intimate frank.  It takes time.

Did you presume you could know another without this most intimate of wagers, the crucial wager of Father Time?  I dare not.  I dare not think such a rash thought, because no lesser wager will do.  Time and Self – connect them.

When the hot dog dissipates, Time has come.  And he’s bearing down in a most significant manner.  Father Time has “come to bear.”  I can see time come.  When we understand that we must wager time, we put self to the fire, between hammer and anvil, nose and alien, pie and tentacle, syrup and honey, and roast our handmaidens in a bonfire of dirty snack cakes until there’s no more wireless connectivity and we’re alone, naked in the swamp.  Then we may either “step up to the plate” or go mad.  And this is why they are referred to as “Ball Park Franks.”  But how long to leave under the heat?  None will ever agree.

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Art – The Imperfect Crime

You’ll find me prayin’.

(Or will you?)

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Strangers in the Night

When I saw Ivanka Trump on television, I enjoyed how she talked into the microphone.  It was a good opportunity for me to respect that woman.  I assure you.  The manner that she talked, utilizing the microphone, it was like a smooth jazz voice.

In this day and age, many men make the comments, as they have before.  In the past, be assured, men also made the comments.  Just simply observe this please.

Ivanka Trump is the woman of this age, the Age of Trump, and it is good to be so reassured by somebody who’s at the top here.  Because she is Trump, and she has many things in common with her father.  It is not normal for fathers to be incestuous with their daughters, but sex?  It is perhaps possible that she has sex at certain points.  That is not the primary issue.  While she may do this act, as an attractive woman- may engage in a partnering, similar to her father, who himself has slept with, enjoys the company of attractive women- while she may, like many of us, enjoy sexuality, this is not what I am calling your attention to at this time.  Be assured it is not just that.

The voice of Ivanka Trump can be called smooth.  It is comparable to smooth jazz radio, to the easy listening stations with smooth disc jockeys – I like it.  And it is good the way that she wields her microphone.  It is good, in fact, the manner in which she employs reassuring speech into a closely held utensil, an implement of projection, to project a good sound, a cooing and a sight which it is possible for me to respect.  In this I am not naughty.  M-may I assure you?  It is a good time to respect Woman Trump, to discover something pleasing, something that we can all get behind.

There is no cause for alarm.

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New York City – it’s America’s meatpacking district

New York City is the Meat Packing District.  We’ve got prime cuts.  Sweat cooked beef.  Grimy shanks are popping off the bone.  Ass pants?  Yes.  There are ass pants.  You knew that.  On the verge of grey 3:00 shadows, we see good melty-makeup face cuts with eyes closed and the grease doing a nice glaze.  Good varieties.  We have imported.  We have you covered for the arm, the leg, the shank, the piss marinated shell shock buffet of great meat opportunities.  Take some meat off the bone and try it out.  Eat some.  We have eye, brain and good sample platters, what more can I say, we’ve got it, this stuff sells itself.  I guarantee it.

A popular pastime is the disappearing act.

Try it.  You might like it.  Vanish into thin air.  It’s all just tacky surrealism- because when our flanks of meat vanish for a moment, on their return, we find they’ve been digested into the forms of various chess pieces.  It’s a tenses game we play with these fleshy pawns, but on my authority as a consumer, I insist on seeing it through.  I’ll make sure, by hook or crook, to get what I want.  At the least, I’ll trap us here, until the game is properly finished.  And at the most – I’ll thrill you.

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Don’t tell anybody about the Secret Gossip Police

There are many people, and many achey souls.

When souls ache, they let out a mewl.  We are mewling.  And mewling goes perfect with gossip.

People believe that gossip is unimportant.  Gossip affects everything.

What is the meaning behind gossip?

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