rainbow vomit with a dash of doi

Please recall that until 1999, the color “Chestnut” was in fact, INDIAN RED---take note! take note! call the PR guy and let us hope that no one has any problem with “Beaver” or did you know that granny smith called and she wants her fucking name off the light green that kids color puke spewing forth from their stick figures when they are doing arts and crafts? hmmm. lack of lubrication makes the dyspareuniac want more than they bargained for and no doubt the almond & antique brass found nowheres near their ass is left out in the barn without harm---numbness, blindness and snowy wednesdays---playing in the place that you call home when there’s nobody who will rant the rave with dave in that aquamarine arcade---pleasure for the measure---lots more carpet for the tacks---flipping that cookie like there no time for cheese and mac---yellow mellow fellows kicking back with bittersweet blizzard brown jello---doctor eye’s got his wangin’ wanger blues---he’s tryin’ his best to out-fart you!---after taking them shots of asparagus mesculous make sure that the police force in western australia don’t try an nail ya for poppin’ that paramethoxy-amphetamine and overheatin’ like you’re treatin’ yerself to a visit to the campfire squires---where? down in delaware- cause’ there, just when everyone said that nothing actually happens there---this kid, mr. um brettly chidesterstonly---he basked in banana mania, we ain’t gonna lie---until the day when the shine went shy---and he you see was pounding hard ‘mounts of ska maria pastora & dancing with the Mazatec shamans---until the blue green ‘came blue gray n’ the blue violent went a. tangerine---might a’ been that his tell in the poker game with blue bell in face brought all them blue cadets into our picture---please recall that salvia divinorum is in fact legal and that brettly knew that for 10 buckaroos he could get “the secret of life” as he said ‘for he trapped himself in a burnt orange tent echoing down the hill full of yellow duck-bills---quacking quacking and flow flow flow retracking---n’ with that diviner’s seer’s sage, which for him had been all the rage---he walked away from all of us inhaling that charcoal grill’s fumes in the tent he locked himself in---clocked out, game over---mario and luigi dead forever---not so clever but resolute when you are positive that “existence in general is pointless---once you have the secret to life”---which apparently he did, popping a little less than ‘cid but enough to do himself in---turning into brick red paint she learned from his struggles and long-brushed the inside of her bubble---peach blizzard blush the dope pope’s vaginal rush---mergin’ with nature, filling out the stature---passing through glass and rolling back the past---still before his last breath he saw the virgin m. and was so ecstatic only to find that the tunnel wasn’t there, not even a bear---and the virgin faded like a parade that got rained out---the deadened god that he was seeking wasn’t even reeking of recent rigormortis---instead the putrid stench that we have come to except whenever a god dies and we rush to replace it---simply flowed away like hungry folk chasing after a steakum’ or ham steak---but a neon carrot? really? we cannot say specifically that her derealization and depersonalization of her own consideration of the nation, the natural state of the state in which she masturbates was completely left to her own design in the laser lemon light sunshine, now can we? ramble to the left & babble to the right---triple the drivel and swivel while flying as high as a kite---and the silver living has a whiny look upon its face---like it stapling the grappling 3rd cousin of masking tape---outrageous orange’s birthday was yesterday and after all we gave it a present of less than a bit of tryptophan—cascading purple lakes, pancakes and rat flan---but then again there very well may be a vegetarian in all of us.