Today marks 93 years. 93 years of whatever you want in a burger. Yes, the irony of a future where we’re parted from a bubble gum. I’m not a maize farmer. If you pay attention, lava boils.
So there you are. A broken charger. Can’t remember the name of the person you’re about to follow. It’s no longer hot for long these days. How’s living as you are working out for yourself? Better give up the spoils.
I am up here. Did I learn to give myself that feeling of calm? No. Pigs would rather stay there. It’s no surprise butter withers on glass. Strangers just left. Are those your spirit moons? Scratch that! Drink up.
The year is now. You’ve just learnt about the lost kettle. He jumped with two legs to kick the bowl. How did that stay standing up? Be quiet. A whooshing sound brings a bring. Oh boy, low levels complete me. One day, one place.
Noise inside your purse. Oh no, no. Glass juice tumbles up a sensitive collar. Why did you stand with the shadow, then? Big yellow fellow foot ventilator. Storm the paper. Will they small here?
Go pens slip a leaf. Where were you? That side oozes whom? Yes, no mint. Poof! Radioactive root fingers in the side view square. Ping clouds me. Everyone enters a higher grail. Wait a minute, bing bubbly bong bong boobong necessitates hooves. Rib! Rib! Aha! Rib.
Soothing groan paint seashell. Uhhhh, way. Forget it. I want a sack. I’ve never had a sack. I’ll probably have a sack pest. Or spec of dust. This side dances, and the rain strikes a spoon in the abandoned warehouse. Beautiful gears take nurses away by ladders. Can someone please exfoliate napkins for the Arctic dwellers. It’s imaginary yams in a court. No one knows if the judge boils cheese. Take your time, sulphur passes.
Blue, there you go. Peeking behind algae normalises earthquakes. Fire starts then by way of beer zones. Eat that, chokehold!
The End
Farces are the best comedy. They tickle a nice spot in my head. Especially when they’re from delivery masters such as the wickedly funny fine wine, Paget Brewster.
It’s what I’ve mimicked up there.
However, I wasn’t expecting nor was I prepared for the power of the written farce-extremé. It’s a bulldozer! Puts me to sleep, just like🫰.
I’ve been typing it for three days and I just pass out while typing. Either my brain gets fried from the nonsense and shuts down, or I’ve unlocked adult lullabies.
Once I feed it to speech AI, I’ll finally have a bedtime story for 10pm. I can only hope it’s effectiveness doesn’t wear off with time.