and it's getting closer fast as eeeeuuuuuwwwwWWWMMBiii... Godness Grace! It's Cornad! That flatbed truck! I've seen it before. I know it. It's Hoffmans truck!!! And Mog & Lig on tow on rollerblades. They must be gunning for the world record in
Part 1 through 101 of The Trash Compactor (eating through Straight Outta Lynwood) Blues...
Transmission Ooo, Molly is no longer visible but is that a cosy cat or not? Mymy!!!
-"A Me Up is better than 10 Down!" said a transient voice.
-"A Me Up is better than 10 Down?" said Beammeup or son, deux trois
-"Huppup Cy Ugly Motostosorio...!" said a monoteistic 2x2x2
-"Drab clots unhinged Romeo et Juliet...!" said several
-"Now, wtf are you doing here!!! GTFO of here with your literature
Off Season Still no Molly in vision. Tonight's the Night...
We see a stage stripped of scenography, curtains, actors whatever... It sits there in all of its dullities (want to scream out Fervent Optical Truths laden with hints of a third gender!), chit-chat, An Ominous-Looking Container allegedly containing cacao , A red glob hangs in midair and one has to be either insane or just not there to even remotely connect this with the obvious...
Yes! Right! A Stage! That's Cool! In! Now! On! Going! But the stage is not the important thing to look at here. It's about how you look at the whole room where you are at the moment that is the important thing.
Just think about it for a moment...
Does it feel good to think about it??? AaWw Ii Aaii!!![/color]
-"Moi! Ji pI!"
And the world could at last draw a big sigh of relief as Weird Al Jankovic Un-Weird-Al-Jankoviced himself and quickly faded into the woodwork. That is real tiredness - Weird Al Jankovic got tired of himself. He's not around anymore. He can't be beamed anywhere. There's no such thing as to be beamed from nowhere to somewhere. Res Ipsa Loquitor!
-"Hey, what shall we do with this accordion, btw?" Inquired Mog philosophically.
-"Yeah, and all this vaudeville paraphernalia?" Echoed Lig, physically shifting.
-"We could start a Circus!" mused Cornad, dreamily phasing.
Omission Sequenze Un-Winding: CaCaphony.
Several saw it. Everyone remembered it. Not everyone was there. It was hilarious. It kicked in the right places. Sang like a bird. Straight dope right through.
Glasses, misty from the mildew and the cool breeze, ready. Out on the turf, racing the missiles, Lig & Mog communicate primarily by altering the brightness in the colored tail lights. They bob around like lightning rods, coated in deep water colors. They stray like glimmering bitches, driving a red composition of comfort and stability, momentarily fusing in a blend of a true nature where the genders have evolved and become one that is much stronger and can easier confront or work through the hardships that life deals you on a daily basis... (trailing off in yet another one of these odd... (that one trailing off too and I don't really know what is happening here or beyond some point that I may have passed already, it wouldn't be a surprise, to say the least...
Motor's going fine. They spin around in wider and wider circles. Blades Purring Just Fine, Yes! Sir!
Fusion Ignition Mission
Going very abruptly down but in a humorous light, that blows up in a storm that race across the sky emptying it of color so the sun can shine through and really give us the chance to see it all:
Jangling and dangling but with the basic trajectory still intact... (that would be enough to identify every last one of these high class butcherers)
An ominous glimpse at the sky state the obvious... the ghost face of Weird Al Jankovic is watching over
A few hours later when Al had understand that there wasn't any signs of civilisation to be found around this god forsaken place. He sat down and drew a big sigh of relief. It meant that there wouldn't be any disturbance so in a nearby crevice he lay large amounts of dried grass. When he thought that he'd amassed enough he stripped down to undies and t-shirt before he crawled into the crevice and snuggled up in a foetal position and only a few minutes later he was sound asleep; dreaming of
"Ya really think that's necessary? Maybe it'll get better /---/ some paper clips..."
A few miles away in a non so whitish shade of pale, the museum yawned and threw in the towel and went on vacation for an indefinite period of
. and forgot the pot of gold at its end and along one of those mysterious roads came a distant fifth cousin of Weird Al tip-toeing like a figure of speech, got tired of, and sat down on the pot of gold, and burned his behind on the hot of gold, and when he jumped up and looked down, there was no down (sorry folks, that was a sheep one) but several
and the first stone steps he saw he planted himself on for a cup of co****!!! g man, that wasn't much ******
a switch... hmmm, a switch! he thought and the thought was like a fog that clouded up his mind so he couldn't see neither mind nor switch... confused!!! a witch snuck in through the gate and made a ruckus heard all the way to Norwich, Ipswich and
mas(s)... but it was a mess of religions and match sticks; in the distance he saw the voice of William S. Burroughs floating in a fiction/non-fiction kind a way that didn't
everything was a dream within a dream, he thought... and then she woke up, yawned and there was no sound, a puzzled look spread across her face... then she knew who it had to be... the one who is so silent that you can hear them, but that person is just one, she thought, so how can it be them, and her, already puzzled, face got even more puzzled,... adn-hes-cnuodtl-dernutsnda... exasperated she looked at the digital clock and gasped