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2008-12-01, 23:57
Excuse me. The following is probably craxy.
And it felt like I was actually running but you know I just slipped out of my dressing gown and when I picked up the bottle of milk was too late and my standard model was all up in their faces like a paedophile at an under-twelve paddle pool party. New neighbours.
"Yeah, hi." Pull up from round ankles, swift over both shoulders and hands fast in pockets. "Auto factory... great." Take milk out of pocket and put it on the step. "Stay at home mom... okay." Gently staring at their child, "She's white?"
The trouble with minstrels is they act just like ordinary black people and nobody wants to live next to them in this neighbourhood even if they do wash their child every morning for the learning school.
She was quite a talented girl and her parents doted on her, spending evenings injecting their only progeny's buttocks with collagen for her minority culture foray through various socio-plexuses and they certainly needed the extra revenue when he lost his job at auto.
It all turned to shit for them right then.
They voted for Barack Obama all right and he was nice too, speaking vapid clichés into their antique goat horn receivers and the prices came down but all the jobs disappeared.
Mom ate too much and got diabetes, he drank and got angry and poor little she had her ass shrivel as sun-dried blackcurrants till net revenue dwindled into debt.
I can't remember the last time I saw them leave the house together, mom uses a furniture for fat people with electric wheels machine and the cracks in the black wax paint scintillate whenever she reseats her lipidic haunch.
He stays in most days drinking cheap scotch by the gallon and smoking menthols while trawling through imuoto galleries and humping two pillows in a single slip, though he does collect his check with jazz hands addendum.
She comes around to listen to Ella Fitzgerald and Cab Calloway every now and again while I braid her red hair with black tar and paint her body dark then fuck her silly for a bottle of pills I get for depressi:(n.
And it felt like I was actually running but you know I just slipped out of my dressing gown and when I picked up the bottle of milk was too late and my standard model was all up in their faces like a paedophile at an under-twelve paddle pool party. New neighbours.
"Yeah, hi." Pull up from round ankles, swift over both shoulders and hands fast in pockets. "Auto factory... great." Take milk out of pocket and put it on the step. "Stay at home mom... okay." Gently staring at their child, "She's white?"
The trouble with minstrels is they act just like ordinary black people and nobody wants to live next to them in this neighbourhood even if they do wash their child every morning for the learning school.
She was quite a talented girl and her parents doted on her, spending evenings injecting their only progeny's buttocks with collagen for her minority culture foray through various socio-plexuses and they certainly needed the extra revenue when he lost his job at auto.
It all turned to shit for them right then.
They voted for Barack Obama all right and he was nice too, speaking vapid clichés into their antique goat horn receivers and the prices came down but all the jobs disappeared.
Mom ate too much and got diabetes, he drank and got angry and poor little she had her ass shrivel as sun-dried blackcurrants till net revenue dwindled into debt.
I can't remember the last time I saw them leave the house together, mom uses a furniture for fat people with electric wheels machine and the cracks in the black wax paint scintillate whenever she reseats her lipidic haunch.
He stays in most days drinking cheap scotch by the gallon and smoking menthols while trawling through imuoto galleries and humping two pillows in a single slip, though he does collect his check with jazz hands addendum.
She comes around to listen to Ella Fitzgerald and Cab Calloway every now and again while I braid her red hair with black tar and paint her body dark then fuck her silly for a bottle of pills I get for depressi:(n.