• Shocked to be so absorbed, pleasantly claply and all full of vim. Mister Tan was all of these and more as the stringent vernacular of his contemporaries slammed into him full force, full of force and vigor. Indeed.

  • Do you remember when I used to be able to write things? Ahh. Neither can I. I am all become disfigured with the writing parts, and I seem unable to discover why. Is it something that effects? Or perhaps a mere problem. I struggle and struggle.

  • The collapse of all things is somehow desirable. Sometimes. Some would say. I’m not proposing this as a reasonable proposition, but it feels right somehow. You understand? Probably not. Not many want to admit it, but I feel like this desire is something inherent in all of us.

  • Can one find peace in their own mind? I have sought to answer this, but the journey has been a never-ending spiral stairway into despair. Thoughts rage and tremble, and I am but helpless.

  • I don’t know what to do with my sorry values. I try to be a good person, I try to be a contributor to society, but all anyone ever says to me is “Ack! A fart!” What do I do? Are my values wrong? Do I treasure that which is bad to others, and thus of poor value? I don’t know.

  • O Chubby, thou cold mistress. Thou, who watcheth so upon thy roost of bitter bite, thou who so sheddeth nary a pound ‘pon thy frigid form. O Chubby, thou cruel yet fertile mistress.

  • Whilst seated beneath the giant bonsai tree I sampled a platter of unripe cheeses. The cheeses created an atmosphere that I can describe only as unpleasant, and to this day I feel fairly strongly about expressing my disgruntlement.

  • The chocolate clock is a clock steeped in great mystery. Very great mystery indeed. And though it is the third clock of its kind, many who witness its power swear by its very great mystery indeed. The mighty third chocolate clock brings great mystery and chocolate to all who take the time to behold its mystery. Chocolate clock.

  • Auto insurance to be secure is not a novel concept, it is merely a pleasure enjoyed by the privileged few. The graceful and secure, those with money to burn and possessions to protect. Myself? I abstain, and condemn those who indulge as prevaricators of the basest variety. Such is the truth of my butt.

  • One bubble, and a flat one at that. How ever does a bubble become flat, anyway? Reasonable, I suppose, to attempt to disect this issue — after all, how does one approach life if one cannot study the bubbles? The bubbles that make us who we are?

  • Well, it’s very unpleasant to have to always be tracking what everyone thinks and how they view the world. I find it complicates everything I do, so I make my best effort to ignore it. I stick with what works, and that’s just doing doing doing. No kind of agenda here, mind you, or any type of misanthropy. I just find that others don’t work for me.

  • Stop callin’ me chicken noodle. If we get caught up in a drought again like all happen’d last year, you ain’t gon’ be sayin no chicken noodle. You gon’ be sayin’ fetch me that puddle o’er yon, and boy if I ain’t gon’ holler back atchoo not one dang lick.

  • Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, this plaster got me feelin way out there up on a truck. Like, slathered and blathered all that, yuss. Like, watch — I put the plaster on the wall and slap on the wallpaper and it’s like Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, it’s STUCK. Ayyyyyyyyyy. Here, here, try it. It’ll STUCK.

  • Meow in the box of the kitty litter, too many people watching. Can’t go. I’m not a cat, Oh God why am I here. Meow. Meow. Why do they all look at me, looking at me so intently. Am I that freakish, here in the box, the kitty litter box? I understand nothing, but I am pulled, so pulled by the scent. MEOW.

  • Mercurial montage with pleasant hints of rose-tinged tallow-tips, too much to bear at times if one is predisposed towards intolerance. Such as I feel no regret for full basking in such a wallowing, and no bones to made about it.

  • Subduing we shallt be undifficult should we fail to be attracted properly. Commonsense spake thus, but ne’er was one to listen should it seem so. Aye, aye, the days are overold and I am left as dust now.

  • CHUMPS! The kind of chumps who tie an anchor to their car of all things! These are the chumps we must cleanse, cleanse, cleanse from our presence. No longer should such as these be permitted, for it is this tolerance that breeds failure. FAILURE TO NOT BE A CHUMP.

  • I’ll share with you all I know of vines. First of all, many people take umbrage with certain aspects of vine culture, namely purveyors of homo-erotic dog food and other such food genres. The reason for this is, as of yet, unclear to us, but we remain confident that with diligence such issues can be resolved.

  • Clumps of stuff in a tornado like that. Just clumps, flying round and gettin flung about. RIght, see there goes a cow dodging a potato patch mid-air, and over there is bein flung a reticulated model of a gigantic locust. Clumps and clumps.

  • I don’t scrimp, I’m just an uptown man walkin downtown in a new pair of boots. A lot of times I’ve said (and I really mean this) that I am truly knowable to people who make the effort. And swivel me in a chair if that ain’t the truth, hon’! I can be a bee or not if you want, but just make the effort!