what what

by bofa xesjum

charlie underwood inhaled the heavy karma of victorian litigation as the boys ducked into the doorway . professor george armstrong mckinley appeared with an empty bag. just put the gold bars in the corner outside in the forest, the professor told charlie. strange things can only be imagined, he added. a quickwitted youth, charlie had left his friend’s house to attend the king’s funeral in the red dawn. very softly, with expectations just under the liberally defined border of defiance , a yammering was heard. darn it! charlie exclaimed, * i very much prefer to go as native as the algorithms make me, the archbishop told jonathan. perhaps some happy corrections can be quietly recorded - nothing salacious, only friends may comment, jonathon offered. until the towers tremble at whitsuntide, the joke will be on the high-faluting nihilists who conceded the republic of the night to the underbelly of the laughing maneaters of the empire, the archbishop replied tartly. inquire into it at your leisure, he added. perhaps a total exhumation of the junior branch of the victorious party will divert a little of the fury of the barbarian yokels, jonathon countered. the quasi-serious lackeys of the commission behaved as if the right to hauteur foreclosed their witlessness, the avchbishop insisted. * later that evening, in their favorite low dive, charlie and jonathon could not agree on a plan. charlie blamed it on the archbishop, and thought jonathon should take a firmer approach with him.

the spinners

by bofa xesjum

if a wolf was a cow it would not howl in the desert if a cat was a refrigerator it would not chase a mouse if an elephant was a cheeseburger it would not knock over a tree the wolf, the cow, the desert, the cat, the refrigerator, the mouse, the elephant, the tree, and the cheeseburger are all out there. because they are all the same and all have a story to tell all the same and all different all the same and all doing different things spinning and spinning dancing in the sunshine dancing in the dark but you do not care you do not want to hear their stories and maybe they do not want to hear yours but then again maybe they do who knows? you never know who might be interested in what

gatorade

by bofa xesjum

gatorade keeps on expanding and does not ask permission of the vacuum cleaner it runs on juice, not on oxygen, you fools If the gatorade’s arrogance is noted inspectors will march in the streets against it sometimes it lacks belligerence in which case the inspectors’ reports will be shredded if its citrusy undertaste is appropriated , street sweepers will sit by the river and weep. the seeds of the dextrose are scattered throughout the galaxy, and the concert goers write in the margins of their programs the ushers wear red berets and black bow ties; they only drink their gatorade with ice cubes therefore, the leader of the ushers union says : it is only by rolling under the futon that i live for another day the gator is a harsh master, demanding and prophesying sucrose doing nothing, and yet, water and oxygen are reluctant siblings the ice cube in the gatorade is silent, and yet the citrus seeds and the concrete alike forget their manners when the shopping cart flies by propelled by an invisible wind the ice cubes and the gatorade dissolve and yet the glass is full