Stream of Unconsciousness

For what am I doing all this? No hope for a better life through practice of happiness fulfilled. Hot red fox jumping over lazy moon. Spoon & fork accomplices. Fee Fie Fo Fum, I doubt the veganism of English Muffins. Insane ramping up of hostels on oil rigs is going to be the bane of Ted Turner's future empire. Eagles were for the Romans, who fell to the hubris of a ruler's petty & stupid sons. George Sr. still was a blow-hard. W. can go choke on an ostrich egg.

Compulsive Mary Steenburgen and her lack of torso-mounted lasers. With her on our side I'm afraid that the resistance will be slowed to a grinding halt. The gravity of the matter makes me think that the Hamburgler will never be defeated. Fortunately for hypodermic needles, I might add! Unicorns and rainbows: the only thing at place in a little girl's sandbox and The Sandbox: biggest gay club in all of Papa New Guinea.

Death is for the living, but Kool-Aid is for the Undead. Stanislavski + The Brothers Karamazov + Vodka + Yuri Gellar equals a lot of Cold War tension & method Bullshit. Method Man queries: "Who just saw some titties?" Damn straight! I did yesterday, albeit over a doctor's shoulder who made them. Made? Perhaps modified? Perhaps that as well.

Stew: It's The Country's Best Venison & Potato flavored yogurt. I never doubt the veganism of venison. Deer are chemically man-made like the Teenage Mutant Plaster Folk Musicians! I've seen Fire and I've seen Pain… I've got Georgia [the mob-controlled Russian state] on my mind. What the hell is that guy's name? John something? I'll call him Tobey - Tobey the Gut-swollen. Dudes gotta stop eating puppies. That's what Ferdinand Magellan is for. Magellan: King of Rum-soaked Rice Cakes. Forget not the power of pineapple juice in a Wop.

If I can only bench 100 lbs. does that make me less of a man? Or does it just make me a lame man? How does one measure a man? Cubits? Fathoms? By-the-pound, I'm more of a man than most biblical animals. Camels definitely not included. Damn, they're hung like camels! If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended: "You just saw some titties!" Method Man v. the Bard… unless he gets his sorcerer spells, Method Man beats the hell out of him. Is that like forgiveness if "Hell" is beaten out of you? Happiness is a warm Nun.

Would the Buddha like flan? Only Hispanic reincarnation will tell! Forensic evidence tells us that Fred Flintstone was a terrible bowler.

Damn shoes making the man! Shoes never make the man well, they always focus too much on feet and not on other important things like the head or rib marrow. Ears are on the head, and everyone knows that shoes hate ears. Why else would a kick to the head hurt so much? I think if we could solve the aural/pods conflict, Israel/Candyland/Tir na nOg peace would be close at hand. Like drinking some mouthwash after a heavy night of lantern-fuel abuse.

What the fuck is taupe? A color, or something that greeting card companies thought up to sell more cards and taupe dolls. It's like that Californication song, but about sex instead of melatonin and hubris.

I would have voted for Fievel. That motherfucker went west! Corncob pipe and a little monocle are the shit over a top-hat and cane. Put all 4 together with anthropomorphism, and soon all the Pulitzer & Nobel people are fighting over who gets to suck you off. What happened to art?

Blood soaked apricots taste like hopeful Prisoners of War. All full of optimistic sweetness and yet the smell of death hangs over them like a smog of simile.

Toothbrush, Tusk brush, Mouse Brush, Muse Brush. Koosh ball, cheese ball, please ball, police ball. No man can do for the first time what all men have done! Too much grammatical inaccuracy. Forsooth. Is that a word? Frankincense and myrrh get to be real, why not forsooth? Same thing with Narnia. No, wait. I hate poorly veiled subconscious endorsements of blind yet knowingly ignorant faith. But turning shit to stone is cool. I give it an "Elevellow". Eleven and Yellow made love, and this love made a monster. This monster now prowls the docks at night looking for vigilante justice and salted corn chips. All on the next episode of "Baywatch Nights: Shame of the Illuminati." If I was real and everything else was fake, fuck it. I'm eating Fried Ice Cream and Tequila shots at every meal.

I do not endorse endorsements.
I endorse a middle way concerning endorsements.
If GE McCokeDisney offered me money to sell my soul, I'd spend it all on hookers and cocaine. 'Cause what the hell, no soul. Myrrh has no soul. Mir doesn't either.

Carson Daly is the reason that anything is possible. He is the ultimate fake celebrity. Paris is at least hot, mean and skanky. Heck, even the hairy guy from He-Man was an early AIDS advocate. Before he became an early Mad-Cow victim.

Remember Plumpy the Plumpa Troll from Candyland? I hate that guy. But whenever I'm feeling lonely I think of how it felt to draw the card with his face on it and I know that it could be worse. Lolly the Lollipop thundercunt was almost as bad, but somehow she was above derision. What the hell? More proof that chicks have it candy-ass easy.

Tabloids steal the hearts and minds of the very weakest. The slightly wiser fall victim to Fox News and Greenpeace. And PETA and the 700 Club. At the very top of the chain are the intellectuals who read books not by Dan Brown. It can be a collection of Penthouse Forum articles as long as it wasn't by Dan Brown or his porn star moniker: Condalessa "I have sex for money" Rice.