i'm going to pass over singing the ballad of the tiefling & just say: compulsion.
jenny came home this morning & i consequently flaked out on helping peter move. i was obligated to check out jenny's tan lines. twice. she's oh-so-cocoa. i mean, rolling up franklin's to snort her in. i've been missing her like an amputated limb, & since she's been home she's been treating me right proper, hot erotica included. i took off for a while to play dnd, & now i'm glad to be back at a home with a pretty girl in it. whats the point of a palace if it doesn't have a princess in it?
i like to have my spyder tap dance when i try to wake turmaculus, 'cause i think its cute.
francisco ibn benny hill was a happy man. he was a priest, to be sure, but for him, there was always loads of pussy. poon was as much a part of clerical life as holy water fonts & embezzled dough. fransisco ibn benny hill was going to be the father of the anti-christ. the gnostic prophet had said so. so frank, son of benny hill, was given free range with the ladies. & oh what oats he did sow. he sowed an awful lot. generally he stayed away from butt-fucking, but with the anti-christ, who can be sure? so he fucked some hot icelandic sluts anal-style a few times. but mostly he kept to missionary. it was the irony that got him.
if fransico ibn benny hill had lived in new york city, he would have worn a trucker's hat.
the sky had a menacing look. josef, thinking this, was free of any sort of idiom or metaphor. several times in the past couple of months the sky had dove down out of itself, talons out-streached, & snatched away people from his neighborhood. the first had been hansel, who was dressed in snow-pants & a deer-hunting cap. an akward way to be remembered, isn't it? but thats the thing about the sky. it strikes out of the (again, literal) blue. you could be washing your car in mortifyingly short shorts, or sunning yourself topless in your back yard & then SWOOSH! the sky would carry you off. dumb old sky.
last night i was visited by three ghosts. the first, the ghost of june 6th past, was named nick tesla, & he revealed to me the intimate details of his electric death-ray. the second was the ghost of june 6th present, & he was named ron regan. he told me hair-raising tales of near escapes, gun smuggling & hollywood gossip. the third & final ghost, the ghost of june 6ths yet to come, was jonny conner, who spoke to me of a beautiful day when icbms would criss-cross the sky & the machines would seize the crown.
god bless us. every one.