When the Speakers Roll Out Glasses...

[bwhite220]

...you have no choice but to lift the monitor with a wood stand so the laptop has a place for coffee and pens. But when the sky turns dark and you hear nothing but funk music, get up, go to the bathroom with q-tips and markers and make your point known. When everyone stops crying, get a new truck and light up a cigar with the used dad hat and some cherry soap. Boom - good times for every one. Actually, what kind of truck would you get? A red laser pointer kind or maybe a busted up Camaro type in the color of disappointment and shame? I prefer big trucks - like, Tonka toy trucks the size of little Barbie's humping Ninja Turtles. Can I get a witness?

You go be good and ring bells.

 

[Unfairtoast]

.....when trucks become sentiant and the Beatles make a comeback, grab some old granddad bourbon and a hat. This will cause the problem of the car bomb to suspend belief and lead to peaceful night sleep. The only reason to keep filling up on hydrogen peroxide will come off as butterscotch.

 

[bwhite220]

...you are assuming that the butterscotch moves mountains and makes gallbladders flutter with amazement. If you add a splash of insecticide to the combination of signatures and makeup, you'll get the real results you are looking for - a truck bomb with a sultry attitude to lure in the night life of sick sweats.

 

[BigFatPanda]

...but the butterscotch mountains sound loudly in the space between the cabinet and the excited home buyers, thus yielding sorrowful trout in your pillow. To remedy that, tightening the feathers on my Tuesday yields facinating recipes able to be taken in suppository form. The result is absolutely amazeballs when shilling discounts to the General's cat.

Cool beans everyone.

 

[bwhite220]

...there is much to ponder here as I smoke and poop on my back front deck. Tight chicken wings makes the turd cutter frothy with the anticipation of guilt. Some paper clips inside of your cactus seat should bring the phone charger's creep counterpart but those watermelons make the support straps ferocious.

Tits up with our crocs on.

 

[Sweemzander]

So you've got balls now, Marie on the run. Down on Newberry Street seventeen seconds of fun. Apes are overrated, blucky a kinky batch of pudding, yay. Garbage dump, pumpkin rot and candy-apple gray. Werewolf in a flower bed, perfect day for lucky guy. This song was never meant to be released, what's that flaming ball in the sky?

The crackhead from Texas, he can read my feet. A bruised piñata and a liquid pixie. If friends were flowers, nothing gold can stay. Consexual sense and squeegee tales. Bees in the cookie jar. Symphonic despair reinventing the manifesto I, you, we don't care. Jacuzzis and bunnies. A broken fondue set. Kool G is in the outhouse, you can be my Mr. French. This old frisbee is shitting in the alley. I saw a naked picture of me on the Internet wearing Jesus' new snowshoes, Golly gee.

If hell is crowded, then we shall sing a hip song for the kids in the back. For Michelle & the dripping of a faucet; ride the vicious bicycle on the tracks. Olympic mayonnaise, Dr. Thunder - Low occupancy vehicle stops and starts with Hollywood suspicion the doctor had snake parts.