He looked down on his cousin on remote camera and thought "we'll it's your choice. It's just too bad you chose to become a fat bastard I wish you would've chose to become a primo ballerino assoluto at the Bolshoi like me!" He watched in the monitor with glee as his fat cousin opened the electrified fridge and jolted and jerked. His cousin still ate electric biscuits for munchies, so it was natch that she would make for the ole icebox after a few hits of the hydroponic best-seller Polychromatic Mindbender. Her lifeless body could be shaped like an 8, or even a pallid seal carcass. No matter, because her lifeless body no longer belonged to her. It was left in the coat room at a fancy ballroom, and nobody would find her until she started stinking. By then there wouldn't be enough of her body left to belong to anyone. Now was my chance to "Marcel." Now was my chance to... "Marcel, look at me. Marcel, are you alright?" My chance to... "Marcel, snap out of it! Suddenly, I felt Don's smack on my face. I looked up at the Heavens, and shouted, "Why, God, why? Why must the president have a crush on me- a humble mime, when he can have any porn star in the world?" The skies grew dark, and pornographic magazines with elitist titles fluttered to the ground like stone angels. The Pornocopter's overhead flight is a much-heralded event in my neighborhood. It was then, at that very instant moment, we realized that stone angels swivel from the timeless verse of Hugh McDiarmid, the Scottish Communist, and have arranged a Holistic poetry forum at Llanfair hall for Wednesday.



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