It Sunday, girls, and I’m going lipsyncing to Eiffel 65 you. Did you even breathe or purchase the innocence requisite of this crime we are undertaking investigating, *sigh*, to? I think there’re stomachs riptide flows and if lightbeings were barcloons they would swirl without cholera via asps, they would fuck without being cholera period. Period! The light superfluous, fingers in waists, Diane summoned and reading menus, a standard shape, sound proctor, is here. I listen. Everywhere is smoked cheeses. 

Next to me, a blonde pomeranian describes the delivery, only fevering during set-up, punch. “Doolittle, or die, hahahaha.” The joke, as prefigurative slop, a novice motive, distresses me, bibs as table legs positively reposition themselves in sneezes, real nice real conversational, easy. “Say, choosing between a doctor and a submersible, which would you excommunicate?” 

“Hope.” Darts thepomeranian tongues, all jiggly with it. 

Girls, they wipe, though precious not. Why lightbeings karaoke in utter disturbance is foreign to same winkers as is widely turbulence foreign parking on signage is blue, in serif fonts, why dome should read these is infuriating, their voices like pinecones hitting shields, all fragmented, blue, boisterous, foreign, DISTURBED, why are voices freaking pinecones that is please eyes. Girls, they whistle, though whistling not, as awoken were shields with serif S.O.S.’s fonts, calling blue, tangle day, a bluish piercing foreign on disturbance, fostered shield, now, is that signage saying blue? Who is that, substance, Sheriff Raphael, who?? 

“I’m back at the hotel, now, filigreed badger towels everywhere in folds, shavings, hair, little crop-circles dusting the carpet, parquette, even linoleate premiums’re listed on, the guestbook towels toweling bays and housekeeping keeps burning it, filigreed faxes ‘n focus, PLUS the phonebook’s personified right now, sitting cross-legged by the televisionstation, I’m sure… Diane?  Is vocalization you? I shuffle mylittle stool pants at the documents, turn over, televisionstation, turn over, curfew bilingual, then try-sexual dams. Choo-choo, furnace, donkey chaise, this is Poptart leaking! Transmissive ….out.” 

MISSION X: Tail Taxis Toward Tirol Taking Two Taffeta Turns To T.A.P.S & TRACK

T, Flanagan, tired. 

T, Flanagan, hotel.  

T, Flanaggann, in tracksuit! Goodmorning! 

T, FFlanaggen, bed. Valise-wide but virginal? I ding-dong Uber to T.A.P.S

TMI, F, ™ focus, there’s trash to laying superimposed sidewalks full on bloat-pilled, planks, pigskins plus eyes so backdrop you should ream ‘em 

Toaster Boy, F, F marks the map, I’m trying I’m detecting flesh…

Turpentine, a lightbeing surprises the bra, the pantyliner fresh as tattletale surfaces, sure it is 

T, Ffffffffffffff, TTFFO suddens while tailgating on the telltale lorry, shines. Skrrrt? So? 

T, while alligator, the splash subsides, and I see lightbeings in lorry-like constellations’ flies. 

MISSION Z: Enter Excalibur Effervescent Extremely Embodied & Excrement Etc. 

Ride. 

The cop. 

Shit on copcar, cop. The joke is not the whittle-aperitif you