death lesson 16
"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."
- Hunter s. Thompson
Wearing a green "card dealer" visor (the words spelled out on the front), Orange metal-framed glasses, and camel unfiltered plugged into a cigarette holder (smoked more for the status that comes with having a high dollar cigarette than any love of the flavor) in a random corner of my mouth. I was on the rainbow road driving a plastic wheeled (toy) pink jeep in heaven looking for the Christian dream. Hopped up on acorns, dead leaves and whatever I find on the ground. I advocate mood stabilizers when dealing with a confrontation of faith. My faith is in the shotgun I found sitting in the purple plastic seat of the loyal car I have named, lovingly "molested catfish." The shotgun has become my friend he does the illustration for the article you are reading. Some would call him a second rate Burroughs as he shoots ballons full random primary colors. selling the hole filled and a paint-splattered canvas of what can only be called "I guess that is a piece of modern art."
"Oh, you bastard," the acorns frying my nerves, smoking dead leaves and questioning my legend. I yell something sardonic at the shotgun laying in the seat to the right of me. Then bark a friendly devotional "You know they wouldn't have to build a wall if they just place a minefield around the whole goddamn border." what do you mean fuck you, I would just shoot a path in the dirt. "you know if this was a real parody, you would be my lawyer." what do you mean the parody is the disillusionment of a failing mind of one lost in the holly hollow woods. At this, the acorns hit me, and the plastic car slid sideways, flipped over, and The shotgun went off like a war hero in Italy, who is visiting for the first time since the second world war. Like a war hero, that gun left me maimed putting a hole in me spreading my stuffing all across, the inclusive shades of the rainbow road, a combination of colors that generation would not understand.
There on the side of the road, I unload the full tube of shells of the pump action. Now destroyed the "Molested Catfish." on the edge of heavens dream. Out there where the rhetoric becomes a mantra. Then the mantra noise. We were just a bunch of Schemers and Blasphemers who like a metal head, failing to become friends with Marylin Manson and are left with the conclusion of, I like the rest of those on the edge of the pearly gates "are not worthy." I pick up my stuffing, knowing that this is the ending my editors wanted. The one who is writing this is transforming with the devotion of the essence of the idea. That may be all this was some, kind of joke, heaven, the cross, and the rainbow road. "Lord Christ have mercy on me a sinner." as I say these words aloud the music kicks on in the Hollywood adaption with Neil young - Powderfinger, and me singing along. "look out momma there is a white bot coming up the river."
- Hunter s. Thompson
Wearing a green "card dealer" visor (the words spelled out on the front), Orange metal-framed glasses, and camel unfiltered plugged into a cigarette holder (smoked more for the status that comes with having a high dollar cigarette than any love of the flavor) in a random corner of my mouth. I was on the rainbow road driving a plastic wheeled (toy) pink jeep in heaven looking for the Christian dream. Hopped up on acorns, dead leaves and whatever I find on the ground. I advocate mood stabilizers when dealing with a confrontation of faith. My faith is in the shotgun I found sitting in the purple plastic seat of the loyal car I have named, lovingly "molested catfish." The shotgun has become my friend he does the illustration for the article you are reading. Some would call him a second rate Burroughs as he shoots ballons full random primary colors. selling the hole filled and a paint-splattered canvas of what can only be called "I guess that is a piece of modern art."
"Oh, you bastard," the acorns frying my nerves, smoking dead leaves and questioning my legend. I yell something sardonic at the shotgun laying in the seat to the right of me. Then bark a friendly devotional "You know they wouldn't have to build a wall if they just place a minefield around the whole goddamn border." what do you mean fuck you, I would just shoot a path in the dirt. "you know if this was a real parody, you would be my lawyer." what do you mean the parody is the disillusionment of a failing mind of one lost in the holly hollow woods. At this, the acorns hit me, and the plastic car slid sideways, flipped over, and The shotgun went off like a war hero in Italy, who is visiting for the first time since the second world war. Like a war hero, that gun left me maimed putting a hole in me spreading my stuffing all across, the inclusive shades of the rainbow road, a combination of colors that generation would not understand.
There on the side of the road, I unload the full tube of shells of the pump action. Now destroyed the "Molested Catfish." on the edge of heavens dream. Out there where the rhetoric becomes a mantra. Then the mantra noise. We were just a bunch of Schemers and Blasphemers who like a metal head, failing to become friends with Marylin Manson and are left with the conclusion of, I like the rest of those on the edge of the pearly gates "are not worthy." I pick up my stuffing, knowing that this is the ending my editors wanted. The one who is writing this is transforming with the devotion of the essence of the idea. That may be all this was some, kind of joke, heaven, the cross, and the rainbow road. "Lord Christ have mercy on me a sinner." as I say these words aloud the music kicks on in the Hollywood adaption with Neil young - Powderfinger, and me singing along. "look out momma there is a white bot coming up the river."
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