wild_zero

by the power of the sword, the god * jesus robo tall must have been talking to me all weekend. something happened to myself between 10:00 pm on friday and saturday at 3:00 pm - like stomata drunk off of aphids i swam in some kind of mysterious whorl. perhaps it was the iceberg lettuce. it's always the god damned salad with the big huge peppercorns. i'm not entirely platonic as to how my environs were shackled - in the morning, they were gone. several uptown yuppies rode in on their mollusks and denny's - they came to eat the pancakes and hold the maple syrup you canadian bastard and pass the salt! all the while junior is screaming at tiny sugary triangles of french toast. so it was recovery time then, and several bottles of gatorade eased the pain but the lungs are still scratchy and i'm still thinking about her. further distractions and then i was abducted from my bad parking job by the couple of politically distraught gentlefolk. it was hardly the interzone, simply a random collection of bushy girls and their metalsome men. besides ourselves, in that bad lighting, everything ceased to make sense and i ate way too many pretzels. typically avoidant of silly putty disguised as jello shots. played some kind of skill-based drunken camraderie increasing component - the trick is to make that little ball into the cup, because if you don't by god the man with the spectacles and thyroid dysfunction shall destroy your liver with the flick of a wrist. and that was my saturday! i was on the verge of collapsing. after she informed us we were about 13 minutes shy of the cutoff, we ate the massive amount of madness on the shiny and indigestible plates. my friend the tool forgot his passport but she still gave him a mint julep and i asked him if was going to get into straw hats and summer dresses and antigue shopping. there was a loud crashing sound when the bartender put the mentos into the 2 liter bottle - yeah c'mon. the horse girl didn't bring her crooked teeth voice and the billy with the banjo, so we ate in moderate silence. is that zepplin? i don't know man, you tell me. further noise and self-recovery, cigarettes more intolerable by the pack! there was a flurry between the chess games and then towards the big concrete thing. (look, a red thing). crisis averted, disjointed whistle was sent flying out of the elevator into the general direction. but wait - before then, there was the machinery, and the french horn, and something sudden and detached, but fierce in those eyes. real? unlike? happy? i may never know the answer to that, so casually thrown out in passing. and then the disaster with the robots - 11 hours of completely furious engagement. after the bad voodoo passed over like deodorant, there was a breath of fresh air in a wooded area with candles. there was much rapport and everyone wasn't wearing a scarf, which was stunning. then i saw the things on the walls and it was explained to me. it was good to know, because upon exploding into the bad state, i would have been thoroughly confused and blamed some kind of domestic creature. more of the bad noise crumbled like feta onto my life wrap - but i escaped again and scared somebody's coworkers. you don't understand the rhythm of the thing unless you clasp in your hands the bodies spinning on sticks. like a shishkebob of units of fun! then a storm a'coming. and there it was upon us all of a sudden, big and loud and stereotyped, cascading in the night sky like some kind of ephemeral swarm. i ran from the woman with the whistle, she shook a piece of foam at my vehicle in some vain attempt at authority. no matters, she didn't recognize me the third time or perhaps did, and figured i was mildly retarded and had no short-term memory. hey, it happens. they've seen it all. so i evaded arrest and plowed forth into the night, and dropped off my friend. one day she will find something to talk about. escape from there was wonderful, and then the tank tried and tried with all its fury and it was funny. i love tank as much as i love lamp. there was an unfortunate run-in with my arch nemesis in the kitchen. it's an emergent beast that ... good god, that hat looks just like a cat perched up there watching me type if i look at it out of the corner of my eyeball ... the thing is, i got the fear, yes, the fear from the canned disaster. i watched them closely, making sure they did not come too close. somebody lost their shit over it. in all my defense plan, i could not help but consider what kind of shapes and ambitions were hiding in her behind those eyes. i slept.