a showcase of intelligence usually ends with wet wet wet's i feel it in my finger, i feel it in my toe... love is all around me, as is the t.f.l. underground map and blockage of candy crush saga on my optic psyche having to re-visit the ****** soviet re-invention of constipated geometry known as tetra tryst.*

like ted bundy said to jack the ripper:
'mate, i know the **** is real,
i just didn't get the joke,
i got the part where feminism
gave airwaves to trans-gender
sensitivity
and everyone started wanting
mascara to look pretty pooh pooh...
i just didn't get the other joke
feminism made about old-school
******* of a marriage
with men about to don the gimp mask
rather than the bow-tie...
or at least that's what i told her while
i slit her throat.'
jack just turned into
a bosse de nage (dr. faustroll's companion)
and epitome(d) himself with the grave
details: ha (date of birth) ha (date of death):
y and w in between;
no really, i bought the snorkelling equipment
to look at my wristwatch and take a photograph
under water! i did... proof? i'll sit watching
that ****** television screen throughout the entirety
of winter... cross-my-fingers-break-my-own-heart
admit to being a star trek fan, lovely dribbles of doodles.