/once upon a time, the sugar impetus, suddenly devolving into the auto-digestive minding of fat residue... come the brain-digesting-proteins-in-Alzheimer's.... and... piquant varient of: falling "short".

    /somewhere along the tongue
to mind loss of ember...
       i... seem to have lost
the technical usage of
   a spanish variant of ditto... namely
the wheelchair bother...
             glum look
confiscating the gimp pride...
i.e. territorial passengers?
      my bad...
                    thank god
this is neither too intelligent,
nor too dumb...
        at least we have
the middle ground covered./

the form of "translating"
the eastern version:
             a... cabaret...
of the western:
     res rarus ex cogitans...
   thing, rare
to find among "thinking"...
the joke per se
is:  the ******* monologue!
eastern people can only digest
cabaret humour,
  tickling a chance for
theatre...
these days nothing at all
is funny...
esp. with the missing
limbs to add to a language
tailored to a body...
Ramadam poetry:
             having eaten
a *******'s worth
of operatic oysters
impersonating
        tonsils...
         serious point though...
why is eastern humour
only fathomable
  when translated within
the confines of a cabaret...
and the west,
  resorts to the extended
"concern" for thought,
     being made puppet
with strings akin to
   tzitziyot being missing:
oh god,
   revising with circumcision
to mind...
             western humour
and the monologue...
  a weird affection
  for voyeurism...
              the: solo act...
        which can hardly be
translated into the eastern
european sentiment for
the cabaret...
    it's really become a
scenario of:
not that i might laugh...
        but i am
prone to the lethargic
expression of humour...
     eastern humour
is less autistic in expression...
hence the cabaret...
            but this
jerking off on a stage
           solo-take-on-
american acronyms?
               short of what?
    what's the funny part?
i'm dying to confiscate
laughter into my *****...
      stand-up contra
     cabaret...
      low-body-language-skills
           in stretching
     a snail into a shoelace...
   sort of ha ha?
           point being:
comedy in the format of solo,
who doesn't
    invite the concept
of      cabaré(t)
  into affairs being minded...
             ray goon oogh...
     shot me dead...
                 stand-up solo
is what's decided upon
as the off-shoot of
         the ritual of thought...
the θ-ought...
       moral precursor of
choice...
              comes the cabaret...
theatre of jokes,
contra the:
    mono-back-to-square-uno
spotlight...
             i'll let
the intelligent people schprech...
     i'm too dumb
to even mind this,
                    "inconvenience";
tomorrow is just
another day in minding
the 15th century...
          and yesterday,
is...
               a challenge
on taking bribes,
              with a back into
tomorrow inconveniece of:
     making bets...
roulette sun-dance
                            minors.