Cheese and trumpets in the weaning broom sir.
Franky knew the blood would stain the sidewalk when the huge, thick, rusty, iron gate slammed shut on his tail. "That's gonna leave a mark." he said to the small purple elf who always lseemed to jump out of his imagination every time he thought of butter. The new girl in town, who was always touching her teeth walked by, and Franky felt the whiskers shoot out of his baby's butt smooth elbow. Man that coffee is bitter. Is some guy bleeding frome the head? Yah me and Johnny you remember Johnny, well we went and got liquored up, yah we got some hore-ses and stayed the night there was some guy named ford prefix. Owwwwwee! someone stick a toothpick in my... well never mind! And then I went for a walk to the bathtub buzzcut light bulb to eat a byte or too. You say I'm tired of this game, you say (we fear change and red lines down you buttox) you love me well go to aitch eee double teethpickx. Ice is not bad unless you don't move off your seat. Anyway... Line... line with moss... moss alone... weed... rubberband in line... crack... cello bow... that's what Franky sees as he walks (well it's more of a limp but with a twist. Kind of like the way ice cubes bounce about when you drop them from a fast moving vehicle) and he thought, "how does one spell houseplant if it's not a plant but sitting on the workbench in the garage of a man who's job is of a bartender so his name must be Joey because Joey is a great name for a bartender. I'll have to ask him how to make a Nantucket Island Ice tea." Ice tea what the hell, ice tea taste like tree bark you silly bunt, define bunt he asks me. Franky began to stagger as he limped down the lonesome dry street buttons on top of fruitcake with mustard and twitching nerves and insects that haven't quite died yet and twitched endlessly as the last bit of life drained from the corpse, of a monotremata (only platypuses and spiny anteaters and that's it. (what do spiny ants look like?)) get The Old Juices flowing. Cloud... same cloud... still that damn cloud. Now Franky is walking on his back in order to appease St. Watermelon. Hole milk is not whole unless my book makes pancakes with butterflies in the product of lots of and lots of and lots of... EPIKACKSMy clock runs sideways like a bunny rabbit in miid June during... running season?! Perhaps not. OH... did you know why many people get married in June it all started in the Middle Ages when a man chose a wife. They would go out into a field in May to do the deed and if she got pregnant than they would get married in June. Chains hanging from my sisters' gums. Beyond the hazy quazi-transluscence banana cream pie peppery wooden pokes that stab my thighs are wiggling in the designs of intergalactic bumper stickers with dogs that suckle and Marcus and his baseball bat. I am not inspired by all this blah blah blah that slips through my strainer strainers everywhere, that spoon through the snow that is not glue or quazi eccentric existential mood swings, just let me tell you about those lucid, lucid eyes my lucky lucky charm. Like the story of some stupid kid named after a samurai guitar player with screwed up hands, written on the napkins of my sleading lucky charm heart. I'm floating on wrinkled old me look like glazed doughnuts rotting in the lucid sun with flies buzszing on my open running veins. I hate having something wrong with my nerves where I just twitch incessantly. Ethnocentrism is bad, because it causes culture lag and culture lag is really bad. I am a visual learning curtain string that drips immorally. It's new quilted toilet paper that's not like the sandpaper crap (pun intended kind of subconsciously in the far regions of my galactic mind) in European hotels where the toilets (only one for every 6.3 people) flush by gravity. I need to shave my eyelids or the hair will be long enough to tie my shoes (I wear loafers) at 3:30 in the morning when I hit my semi-annual growth spurt. My mugs have handles that look like Michael Bolten's profile. Hairspray in my cough syrup to put on my intersteller soup kitchen made leather strip flakes of rye bread with polyester bologna. It is time now to draw back the curtain of illusion and deal the Tarot cards that shall seal your doom in mathematics. This purple avacado man that runs his spiny fingers down my lucid spinei is snapped in the narrow passages of eternity and he/I/you is wondering if he is truly a mere canine or demigod whose near infinite power is jello-teselating on the edge of the universal toilet seat. My dear silly lucid bunt. Was shakespeare a paranormal psychotic; or just a dick. Twinkle twin until the shiny toilet cookie from Cambodia and Zanzibar in yellow 5 of earth. That little thing on glasses that vaj my daj with a waj of lemon glass with The Buttbeing. Tongue in cheek with blue berry base on my heart of livers. Let's do Billy. Billy Billy Bo- I'm bored with this let's paint that board until it is red. Read until my eyes hurt. It's a good board. Wendy straws are iced up to my knife outline in eyes of blue not brown. I'm wearing a big stripe of unicolour plaid on my ass and some cheese is on the Beefeater and the GLA of A. P-N-O-M high as a slug on a starfish eyelash on my pencil of pencils or that I can't read or smell because of my eyes on the hat of George Lincoln with a public blind "L"....... Pandas drink hot ice cups chocked full of Merenchino beefcakes Boston cream baked bean town city of lights gay (not s.f.) Paris France earth milky way in the 47th salt grain which is on table #12 in a restaurant in Enid, Oklahoma. To find this universe you can graph a line with the origin at the northeast corner of the table. the equator involves the third derivative of the second powerd logarithmic Richter Scale... plus three I think. This is the exact, precise totally more than close ,but it's the closest approximation in the entire existence of anyone in our universe. Belt buckles shall see what the prototype refrigerator that contains 2.3 cases of dogfood. Franky wants some dog food with pink gravy. Pink gravy... I like the sound, feel, taste, sight, the mere existence of pink gravy because it takes Franky back to the nostalgic days before THE ACCIDENT!!!!!!!!! His mind tweaks so many times he loses count at 53. Tweaks so hard that violin strings could not bear the load of tweaking once more. Maybe if i put some parsley on it and ate it because everyone knows that parsley is just for decoration... but not anymore. I can see it all now... everybody in the salt grain (see above) will eat nothing but parsley so green will be the thought on everybody's mind. Mind. What's in a mind? Would a mind by any other name be composed of such gray, so very gray matter full of chocolatey chip goodness???. Do you see stars before my tail lights are deep purple so I come back to the little purple elf because my thought patterns are calculated just so that when i think of the girl who touches her teeth (sigh) and I think of butter... hence the little purple elf. I think I'll call him... Trinket Jones. Track lighting (echo echo echo echo echo.......) I want to exhale at 300 mph. I see myself in the mirror and I just realized that my fur is black and white. You may now address me as "Palomino Franky." Shh... don't you hear the massive troops wearing sour kraut boots with spaghetti laces (tea and crumptes in the green room with the red-necked salt stickin' beef cakin' coffee staining sound dubbing ferret lickin' washouts). The dots shall take over the town from right to left (my right, not your right) only after my Four o'clock dry heaving funeral TV show with the black tricycle that lost the left middle wheel when the frame got bent out of the exact shape of an equilateral triangle.A piece of lucid bacon slithers down my lucid chin and falls on the unwashed lucdi floor with ashes and strychnine. It is greasy and lucid. Strychnine in my damn lucid lucky charms you lucid freak. Franky begins to sing a Jewish folk song. "HAVE NAGILA, HAVA NAGILA, HAVA NAGILA, VAY NECE MAY KAY. RAHA NAY RANA NA, RAHA NAY RANA NA, RAHA NAY RANA NA, VAY NECE MAY KAY... BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH blah blah..." a peice of muscle tissue shrivels and dies. I am not a luck lucky charm, damn is she ho- ho- hotttt! She's got those eyes, those, those eyes I'm telling you. The Creative Juices are leaving gone, gone GONE. Your turn.Yo homee I think I'll go back and lick the blood off the ant hill where the ants died from drowning. Peaches to the girl who was in Holland. When mirrors go into forever months stories and cause to fix and housewares. The hats play earhair with my horns.
But I digress.....