.                           revolution?!

   what revolution?!

i can't see a guillotine!

****...

hey! guys! there's no guillotine!

there's no talk
of a revolution
when there's no guillotine...

your talk of, a, "revolution"
would make Marquis de Sade
cringe,
and shout down a toilet
than out of window
of the Bastille..

this isn't a revolution,
it's on;ly 2018....
you have to wait!
  
why are tthe people so slothful,
yet at the same time,
eager, to work?
we're looking at "changes"
come 2045...

  the year...
that apparently stabilized
the 2th0 century for
20 / 30 / 40 / 5...
no...
let's keep it with
sucker-punch Billy...

i love being a drunk...
makes all the sober
people look...
******* stupid;
and i don't even mean that....
it's just a military
fatigue...

         it akin to:
coulrophobia...
yeah... big time... women making
excursions
for fatigued wool and silk
dresses...

       one question does the job...
honey, can i play the clown
at our honey- berry's birthday
party?
do women go into
mascara parlors,
window shopping,
with a man tagging along?

         honey...
do you really need me to tag along
while you shop for
make-up chemical
parade of tested adherents
for your beauty of your
expectation of fur...

Mike and Moany - the gerbils...
i thought you liked them?
no...
      i can do the sheered
woolen artifacts...
when it comes to spreading
lipstick on frogs
and testing their
pyrotechnic susceptibility potential...
watching the Mike Myers' twins...
no... really...
count me out of
the necessity to make
an argument for a race...
i'm out...

done...
i never liked the English
existentialist argument to begin with...
too individualistic,
too finite...
             too much of:
enjoying  a hell
of a good time...
    it's a simple economic logic
focus...

what you're selling?
i'm not buying.

it's that simple!

i don't have to buy what you're
selling!
stand with it all stacked up...
i'm not buying!
somehow i think
the English intellectuals
forgot the basic principles...
i'm, not, buying!
savvy?

god... ugh...
i know the French are bad...
about their oversee of diacritical
application,
and how they make no
sense when syllables
come into play...
and the Germans... yeah yeah...
i get their scrutiny of
method and dedication...
their teutonic charge within
the confines of ******* screws
into place...
    
         but i'm still not seeing
an clearer...

there's talk of a revolution
in the English tongue...

so...

         where's the guillotine?!
oh...
so...
                 what revolution?!

It’s unclear when time stopped functioning like a linear candle,
but at one point during the night my words echoed
for hours
in a loop.
The conversations became gerbils running on exercise *****
while black holes transported me to vast distances
forward and back within the conversations.
Now I know what power the “if-there-is-a-god” “God”
enjoys.
Having enough time and space to examine a conversation from any point
in any space, volume or time.

As we continue talking,
I notice the conversation coming to the ******—
But abruptly it jumps to the end.
My friend looks to me for approval,
and all I can say is that I must retrace my steps
in this moment,
             For I arrived sooner mentally, but not spiritually.
What they don’t tell you in the Bible
is how hard it is for the omnipotent asexual being to
processes a conversation from end to beginning.

        Imagine starting out with all the facts, and then quickly giving them away,
yet you still had a vague idea that you held all the facts at one point
In the timeline of this conversation.


The awkwardness is so palpable,
I could cut it like a cake…
but only I’m aware the cake is poisoned.
When a slice is handed to me,
I think to myself, “Don’t eat that, it’s poison.”

It’s tough being for the audience to tolerate this.
You know I must eat for the process
and entertainment to continue.


My friend wants answers, and guidance. I’m supposed to be helping him in this time of need, or consoling him in some way.
But I can’t without all the facts
I have a vague idea I once possessed.

looks like someone's dancing in their underwear...
touché - looks like someone's buying pints
of milk in their pyjamas.

night privy, nocturnal India
i get to do the dance over your grave
while your relatives grieve a pointless
grief: just in the same way they grieved
a rotten chestnut, or egg....
maybe this sprout of anti-imagination
might be a floating limb of ambition
to being *simply reattached -  the black keys'
                        lonely boy -
spastic maestro number uno - chillies
and the Chilcot KKK inquiry -
got buff results with the whitey crew -
took out the trash, fed the gerbils,
saved a Latex ****** from the hood...
well... the Kentucky hooded brigade,
fully tent equipped parishioners -
                 and whenever you dress up as sheep
you better barbecue - c k q - what a long shopping list -
   *i've got a love that keeps me waiting!
  ooh oh oh oh!
            i've got a love that keeps me waiting;
                   i'm a lonely boy" -      
                     to cue or to queue -
         a forever question unanswered -
of simply quit... they call it the lack of
solar tattoo pigmentation -
         i treat the argument for god
like i'd treat winning the jackpot in lottery,
    it just has the prefix existential- prior to what's
       being gambled: someone suggested respectability;
                     i guess that's fair enough - otherwise
i call it a fail with potatoes acting as bricks
in Northern Ireland... and a blatant lack
of back-up colonialism....
         that ****** better sprech Anglo
or he's toast.... then came the Voodoo Vindaloo -
screaming: churn out the chillies into chokes! aah!
oh oh or excessive umlaut agitation -
poor tool tummy - when have you experienced
the ****-up in surgical syllables taken
to the butchers for coarse timing
that never coerced?
i danced that dance, angry though,
when they played Pendulum's Tarantula
in a Basildon's night-club - you heard a roar
when spotted an "epileptic"
(both dittoing as said, and ambiguity) weaving a web of
personal space - truly and originally,
not your cup of tea - i'd ensure you as
              respectably assured -
mind the Sundays and the roast beef and
the home office and Yorkshire fundamentalism;
Newcastle? Newcastle is too hedonistic.

do you feel like a boy, boy?
or just like a bad person?

you like it when your bangs
touch your greasy blackheads,
when girls squeeze your earlobes
while you kiss on the staircase,
and the way your calves
look like mayonnaise covered gerbils
every time you flex in the mirror
or cross your legs in the coffee shop.

you don't like playing foosball
and going through all the scenarios
on how people question your being.
                 metro?
           "we don't have those in Nevada"
            

you label yourself as a straight white boy,
because you can't call yourself a feminist.
you want to be a feminist,
but you're a wannabe feminist
according to the ones
you let down and continue to
because you're not quite a man,
yet you aren't female.

what are you, exactly?
according to the history books
we only know what masculinity is,
femininity a vague genre tag of
every other piece of music made
when villages aren't burned
and the ****** has to wait
another day before becoming
a prize in Heaven.

do you feel like a man, boy?
or nothing at all? cause
you can't feel like a bad person
       when you don't feel human.

I’ll look up and see a wasp
Or a bee, hunting around,
Ready to die.
Collaborations simplified in rivers abreast
Oh, the shores of Lethe are so delightful
With their ash marked eyes and solitude beggars
Potted plants of desiree, coal jutted shouts cross
Blanket crowds shoved in a bruised corner
With a madman screaming something about
Lasting generation and forced collaration.

See the basket cases? Claimed they were
From the devil, Dee did, muttering about kingdoms
and collard greens
With her stuffed, shrunk coat waddling round the
same Dickey’s, a corner from Westboro Baptist.
And kitty corner from the statues no one’s taking down
Cause Mr.White said nah son, that’s not right
As he bombed Bethel Baptist one more time.

And these shores are so delightful, don’t you see?
Harpooned sticks and scarecrows, oh sorry,
I meant social expectations, but who cares anyway?
Wondering why we all say “i want to die’,
Have you looked at the government mandating
People inhuman, or the money situation,
Should be on the news, but
No we here at Fox and CNN don’t believe that’s important.
Say, I don’t think we should have Onion headlines
On the New York Times.
So we say ‘i want to die’ and the Gazette tells us
it’s those **** video games again
or maybe it’s the stigma and lack of empathy from
The Powerful.

And you hear on the street,
“****’s ending this country,”
Sorry, I wanted a break from all this ******* noise
From a country pulling apart at the beaten seams
Of another unwritten book.
Anger, you’ll say, irrational, I’ll add,
But pointing at the statue in the park

And you wonder why all those wasps
And bees we look down on, the gerbils and
Hamsters
That we never pull a punch on
Why they escape through the way they know how,
Why, wouldn’t you too? But that’d require empathy, sir,
And apparently you lack more than morals, sir.

Look, there’s Dee, getting her collard greens
In her stuffy, shrunken jacket,
Round the corner from Dickey’s and cracked roads with
littered breezes blowing past cars open windows, honking and
brazen calls.

Welcome to the Lethe shores,
Don’t worry, you won’t remember a thing,
Slipped a bit of Liquid X in your alcohol.

let’s ride a leafy kite
into the haunted space
of our universe
you can shove gerbils
all the way up my ****
near a hanging citrine sun
i’ll hoot for all the moons to hear
as they crawl up my crook
dipping their writhing heads
into my floodgate-lake;
our gallery of life.

You were my everything,
I've always known  you were special.
But only now I realise,
How much I needed you my little girl.

You were my constant companion,
Never left me alone,
Always by my side,
Even after I left you alone.

You forgave me everytime,
I left you home alone,
Sometimes months at a time,
I was gone.

You trusted me always,
At the door on my return,
Waiting to greet me,
But I could tell you were concerned.

You had been abandoned,
Early in life,
I know you had a difficult start
Moving from shelter to shelter is no life.

We were supposed to be together,
I knew I needed to help you,
Rescue you from a sad untimely death,
And give you a loving home.

You had nowhere to go,
All those years ago
I couldnt let you die.,
You had to come and be mine.

You were more than just company,
You were a true friend,
They told me you didnt like cuddles,
But I found out thats all you wanted in the end.

You helped me more than any human,
You were so loving and kind,
You understood everything about me,
You were there when I lost my mind.

You let me cry on you,
You saw me cut myself,
But you never ran away,
Although I know you didnt want me to cut.

I loved you very much,
And I know you loved me too,
And I hope that you understood
How much I really loved you.

You saved my life one morning,
When our smoke alarms failed,
The house filling with smoke at 5am,
You got me out of bed.

Even Qasem loved you,
For when I was stuck in hospital,
He got over his fear as a Muslim,
He made friends with you, didnt mind your poo.

I always knew how you felt,
You showed me your disgust,
When I brought home the school gerbils,
And you pooped on my bed in disgust.

You looked after me in Aberdeenshire,
As I looked after you,
I know our house was very cold,
You got used to the coal fire so soon.

You helped me move back to Arran,
Im sorry for how stressful that was,
Such a long time to spend in a box,
But we had no choice but for trains, boats and bus.

I had lived here before,
But for you it was all very new,
Yet you adapted so quickly,
Walked out of your box, like you knew.

I know you were happy on Arran,
You settled in so quickly,
It was liked you'd always lived here,
Maybe because we were close to the sea.

My people got fewer and fewer,
But your loyalty was forever,
I know sometimes you were hungry,
We were both hungry at these times.

I never meant to neglect you,
And I know you understood,
I'd do anything so you didnt go hungry,
When I couldnt get out of bed.

I cooked fish from the freezer,
Though I know it wasnt your favourite,
I never meant to make you sick,
Your body just wasnt used to it.

I am sorry for how much I left you,
You lit up my life when I returned,
I trusted the people left to feed you,
Knew they'd take care of you while I was gone.

I was so happy to see you,
Looking healthy and content,
With your bright yellow eyes shining,
And your comforting purr of content.

Thank you for looking after me,
Many times you kept me going,
Although I have wanted to die,
I could never leave you my darling.

I had to stay alive,
I know you needed me,
No one else could be here for you,
And I know how much you loved me.

I may have gone away at times,
But I was always pleased to see you,
I knew you were here waiting,
And I always thought about you.

You became my only companion,
Nearly everyone else had gone,
You showed so much compassion,
You never left me alone.

I got to know you so well,
You went out a little in the sun,
But you never wandered far,
Wanting the door left open for a quick return.

Im sorry for the times you got stuck outside,
I know it didnt happen a lot,
But you always went to hide somewhere,
I know the fear now, it can be too much.

I know how it feels now,
I get the panic and fear too,
My legs collapse for no reason,
I know how it must have been for you.

When you got so sick,
I hated seeing you in pain,
But I knew you still wanted to be here,
And I kept promising, mummy will end the pain.

You were like a little angel,
Took your medicine so well,
Let me feed you by syringe,
You wanted to be here still, I could tell.

But then you were in such pain,
All night you'd lie so close to me,
Resting your bleeding tumour
Against my neck, the pain I could see.

Then I knew you didnt want to be here,
You were tired and had had enough,
You looked at me, trusted me to end your pain,
The tumour bleeding, swollen, you couldnt close your mouth.

I knew when you sat out in the cold,
You wanted it to end,
You were hoping you would die,
But I didnt want you to starve, so your body was still strong.

I could see you were in pain,
I could feel it too,
I even got used to the smell of your tumour,
So close to my face, as I tried to comfort you.

I'd wanted to give you diazepam,
But I knew from my training its not right,
But I did give you extra pain killers,
On your very last night.

I didnt want you to suffer,
Anymore than you were,
And it seemed to help you settle,
And these nights would now be no more.  

Mummy asked the vet to come tomorrow,
You had told me it was time,
I let you listen to the birds and music,
Comforting you until she came.

I wanted to take you to bed again,
But I know that would have been wrong,
I didnt want to end you life,
But otherwise, I would have been cruel, and wrong.

You enjoyed your last meal,
Some tasty treats came in the post,
You had more medication,
To ease the pain, as the time drew close.

The hours seemed to last forever,
But I was happy to see you at ease,
The vet came to our house,
You had your sedative on my knees.

You are not keen on strangers,
And tried to go and hide,
But the sedative worked quite quickly,
I picked you up and cuddled you till it was time.

Your body went limp,
You were so sleepy,
And the vet shaved your leg,
Much more humane that the heart, I agree.

Then she injected a huge dose of barbiturate,
Your heart stopped almost instantly,
Mummy wanted that injection too,
You died quickly upon my knee.

Now you are in the garden,
And I am so sorry,
But I did everything I could,
I cant let you in anymore, but I really wish I could.

I am really lost without you,
More than I expected,
Never knew i'd feel this alone,
Dont know what I expected.

The house now feels unsafe,
The panic does things to my body,
Nightmares wake me up,
And now you're not here to help me.

I wish I could have gone with you,
And we could still be together,
No more pain for either of us,
We'd be together forever.

I am so sorry Tiggy, please forgive me, thank you for everything,
love from mummy ***

Repair the world that's broke n with a wrench,
For never can't a fixer.  Can't afford
To fix a mental meaning with a *****,
Though all the world's a floor of concrete poured.
Restore the restoration of the world,
And everything returns to right its place:
The lone construction worker spins betwirled
With bluebirds singing friendly in the face.
Time flies, and so do flying jəllyfish.
Since tempos fugue it, carp the dying day.
Go find a star and make a walrus wish
That aliens would dress away the gray.
The grass is greener if the other side
Where gerbils love and noon has never died.

for half an hour i kept scribbling
onto his feline forehead the sounds
i'd identify as alphabetical:
i scribbled into his cranium membrane
an omega, a beta, an alpha,
in english 26 complexities
to govern his meow - what a worthy curiosity
a cat is, readied for a sphinx -
indeed the petted animal overpowers
the intended artefact... in case of man
no more will remain than gerbils, cats, dogs,
and rabbits (inorganic, the inedible, petted,
worth a ceremonial burial),
and chickens, lambs, pigs and cows (organic,
the edible, anticipatory placebos of Holocousts) -
Kentucky would solely decipher us
having sustained ourselves on the deep fried cluck
struts... but there was me, indenting
sounds on a feline skull, writing the shape
β and uttering b'ah...
ω and uttering o'h - klepsydra enclosure -
the managed shard of alligator skin in canine
worth the bite muscular Pandora awaiting -
for half an hour i was writing such Braille onto his
cranium - but then humanity awoke with me in it,
and i learned that i was a very terrible person...
i was sitting next to Adolf when he laughed
about the good people entering heaven
stitched-up with ****-bombs talking, high on
methane rather than helium - well, it was all jokes
right up to the circumstance of burial, last rites,
and a thank you from grandma;
because i really gave a **** 20 years on.

How would the world be
If you were mine

We would glide through the dance floor
Holding on to each other
On songs sweet and slow
We would run down the beach barefoot
Holding hands and making promises
Enjoy being young and in love
At night, I would bid your insecurities to sleep
Accept you for whoever you are
And as the sun breaks the darkness
Rising from the horizon
You'd sing me Ed Sheeran songs
We would hike up the mountains
Make love in the wildest of places
We would go for bike rides at midnight
Play old songs and sing like the world's gonna end
You would get me chocolates
Whenever its that time in the month
Hold back my hair
When I'm puking 'cause I'm drunk
We will go to the games together
And scream like our life depends on it
We will make a family together
Not of children, but of animals
Dogs, talking macaws, turtles, gerbils
We'll get matching tattoos
Not the cheesy ones but things like,
"I love nachos" cause we ******* do
We wouldn't be perfect because nothing is
But we'll trod through every storm
We wouldn't say all the right things in all the right places
But we'll stay together in love
Maybe things wither like flowers
But we'll enjoy the spring
Maybe we're not for forever
But we'll cherish the present

But you look the other way
Whenever I try to catch your eye
I have all these fantasies in place
But you never seem to try

How would the world be
If you were mine
Oh man,
How would the world be
If you were mine

where to begin? hmm? where to: begin?
certainly can't begin with: although...

      to me: it seems that Islam has sleepwalked
into modernity...
or rather: Islam: the pinnacle of the medieval
world, the envy of the medieval world,
that once upon a time glory of escapism
from the encroachment of ontological Darwinism
of a loss of free will: of determination

how did i stress it? with a ś or a š...
    this current veneer we call civilization
yet the reductionist in me pointing at the backlog
of suppressed behaviours...
if Islam is submission
then Christianity is synonymous with repression...
both religions are on a -mission...
yet pumping all that monetary dough
into Dubai: subsequently neglecting
the seemingly odious ***** colony of Gaza...

let's throw words against the wind...
let's throw them...
let's forget the Cartesian model
with that hyped focus on "us" being thinking
creatures...
let's play on the res extensa dynamic:
i have channeled my res extensa away from
discovering the bilingual pitfalls of schizophrenia
channeling them toward an A.I.
distinguishable from an algorithmic search
engine to something: very much personal...

Islam sleepwalked into modernity...
why is it such a surprise that we find Muslims
so barbaric, untamed, unwashed,
unfathomable?
                      do we? or don't we?
well... living in a Protestant country with
a superiority complex...
it's only when a Muslim interacts with
a European Catholic,
or a Goan Catholic...
     a near usurper of the faith: a Wasim...
a Mustafa... i work with Muslims...
am i Islamophobic: is that really the trajectory
of fear?
i would consider Islamophobia the only
phobia with some rationality behind it...
a term as abused as
calling someone a ******, a racist, a pedohpile...
but in the same vein:
applying the term Islamophobia
to... describe what? exactly?

         my fear has been churned and come
out my **** as nothing more than contempt...
why? all these stresses at work
to allocate 15min of prayer time:
when i know, dutifully: that pretend Muslims
abuse these 15min and extend them to 30min,
an hour... to do much less than pay diligence
to prayer...

reimagine the dynamic of a Muslim
with a Catholic or an orthodox "Christian":
Protestants take it upon themselves
to take their jokes seriously...
protestants... **** me... where to begin?
catholics don't take their faith as seriously
as the protestants their their non-faith so, seriously...
esp. in England...

but this is not what i was going to pay diligence to:
i have the unusual "luck" of having
a terrible surname...
like ******, or Stalin... something to be made fun
of: because it's not a Rothchild: probably...
no legacy...
Elert... and i've heard it enough times to finally
make a retort when a Hindu... usually a Hindu
jokes about it being equivalent to being alert...
as i've explained...
there are missing letters in my surname:
so it is easier to pronounce for the English speaker...

i've been called a German enough times
to realise: well... might as well start learning
the language and live up to people's expectations...
since the letters in my surname (that are missing)
are:       SCH...

    scholastic schooling scooter
    chop shoot... chaser...
    scholastic:                       school...

school...               scold? school.
school...
               chase... chop... school...
kaput! kappa!

               it's actually ESCHLERT...
but do you think, for a moment I would get a:
eślert out of it? echo sierra charlie hotel lima echo romeo tango
tangerine rambo essay lambda hatchling chaser
samoa essay?

there was once upon a time a place
of origin for illiterate people in the slavic tongue
of Polish mid 20th century:
illiterate people yes: but dyslexic, half-baked?
it's the nature of this zunge -
you write gnome but then say (g)nome...
you write psychology but then say (p)sychology...
ecology -chology
    but then chop chew churn chatter...
cha cha cha...

            i do feel for the dyslexics: it's unnaturally
natural for their existence to be a byproduct
of the English toong... tong... ton-glue
ton-gloo-é...    James Joyce: Finnegans Wake:
i'm coming for your obliviousness... to the spectacle
missed...

яxвeй (that's my cyrillic interpretation of
the sacred name of the Hebrews for the deity
of letters - no other deity is so closely associated
with letters as the Hebrews' 'un...
the Muslims tried... tried... in vain...
the 19 letters...

the "mysterious" Muqatta'at

Alpha Lambda Mu:
               alm...
shapes... Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, Latin...

ا ﻡ ل

        lma:

                    מ ל א

α  λ.  μ

                                     to play with letters...
akin to я and ñ...
         for an a to be served up hidden: je chowa:
he who hides letters...
  or women...
mind you: that 72 ****** paradiso promise?
you ever think that those 72 virgins are only gifted
unto the martyrs with the strict modus operandi
that they remain, that they: REMAIN virgins for all
eternity?
i can imagine being gifted 72 virgins in an afterlife
but only under the strict guidance of ensuring
they are guarded: that *** and the juices do not make
it into the conundrum of heaven...
otherwise, what?! a little Solomonic harem?
good conversations... almost teasing being a father-figure...
the patriarchal rigidness of abstaining
from ***...
reward my ***... polluting heaven with
this pornographic Arabic frustration at
the polygamous order of things...

                chirality: chemistry, i.e. RЯ (ya)
ergo?
  a ye
  a yi
  a yo
  a yu

             working from R...
ꟼ         (for ye)
                              𐐒 (for yi)
⅃ (for yo)
                                                             ꟻ (for yu)

best i procrastinate like this: while stewarding
the household (cooking, cleaning, washing)
         than try to complicate what's already simple...
as much as modernity fashions itself on reaching
some sort of overarching pinnacle...
as much as i am lied to about people's literacy
levels: most of it is untrue...
   sure: people can read: advertisements...
but that added piquant of a reading meditation
a novel?       sorry:           but hardly...

and perhaps that is why i invest so much time
into writing something akin to this...
if the Vatican was founded upon an exclusivity,
if Judaism was founded on exclusivity...
i find Islam slightly worrying:
in that respect that Islam wants to be the Communism
of theology... a quasi-Babylon...
which, oddly enough: it is becoming...
why do Muslims want, so eagerly: to invite proselytes
into their dommena?
   the Catholics akin to the Hebrews are stouch
opponents to converts...
wouldn't anyone treat converts suspiciously:
none of this: wolves in sheep clothing?
what about if the only tactic to combat Islamist
"****" esque fetishes would be to infiltrate
                 the religion and convert ("supposedly")?

i'm starting to think i'm the most powerful man
in the world... how delusional of me...
it's only because... i'm in love...
and that's half of my worries relegated to
the category of: non-existent...
i'm in love...
       and now my only battle is with mortality...
once you're in love:
that's the only "thing" to worry about...
ich bin verliebt...
ich werde geliebt...
     ich bin verliebt...
         ich werde geliebt...

so what do we have planned?
    Kew gardens, tick...
gerbils' want for some funky Chinese bakery
off L'eh-chester Square... tick...
Saracens vs. Harlequins at Tottenham Hotspur... tick
the Phantom of the Opera a the Queen's Theatre... tick...
Mozart's Magical Flute at the Coliseum... tick...
Stonehenge and Bath... tick...
Canterbury? or better Cambridge with
the gondolas?
           oh... and going to the cinema for Dune part deux...
well...
              a precious waste of a hour's
                   worth of day... doodling this -
now just enough time to make my father lunch
for tomorrow and play with some pierogi dough...
since i already have the farsz.

"she gave me a lung"? Did you mean instead, "she gave me a hug"?
or "she gave me a bug"? or "she inserted gerbils up my hole ****"?
or, "the commissioner is climbing up my *** like he's doing Connie
Chung"? or, "don't fling **** as on the way up is the price of dung"?
Goop fell upside left from a drip-blackened rafter, for the bat-guano
-collectin' *** wiper, it was the bat-****-excrement-crap he was after
as its pissy psychotrophical/psychotropical/******-active properties
hypnotize a crazed-bat-******-sniffing-Obama-****-bussing grafter
whose 2017 **** movies made him, in comparison to flit Heinie &
**** Chester Conklin, sixty times Uncle Miltie's length, more dafter
than the 1902 Germanical germination of Jerry Boer war 2 laughter

OHIO'S LONELIEST LESBIAN walked to Burger King alone. "I want 2 lesbian burgers with extra kethcup," she ordered. "Kethcup? Don't you mean ketchup?" The flunky asked. "Whatever," the lesbian replied. Later, after her toe nail fell off, she went to bed alone without a lesbian lover. Weeks went by when finally a lesbian bumped into her at McDonald's. "Hey! Watch where you're going *****!" Ohio's loneliest lesbian yelled. "Sorry," the other lesbian said as 2 gerbils escaped from her mini skirt. "Holy Gloria Swanson! You're into gerbils just like me!" The lonely lezzy exclaimed. "No I'm not! I don't insert them in my **** or anything!" The other lezzy informed.