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In by Wyatt on October 25, 2010 at 2:50 am

Idiotic and numb-headed frilly bloatstreams of sticky, disgraceful blowflies sting like nettles. The smelly vomitous goats stampede as imbeciles in mindless, automatic circles, ignoring any reason and all direction, crashing a sorry excuse for a head first into each other and dumbly blindly tastelessly frolicking in their own horrific putrescence. Oh what a scene. I could die. I will die. I want to remove significant portions of my brain simply so that I won’t have to interpret the absurdity, the precarious chaos uncoordinatedly flinging its filthy self around me. Dear lord, you aren’t present here. This damned bug won’t die.


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