Sunday, June 17, 2007

Coming, Again, Up Your PGA Ass

Mask of filigreed animal horn, hair far grounder from just around the shy corner. Yo. Signals embarked via helmets across gridded seas pummel me up sadomasochistically. Shits storm giving high sickness smoke to the masses, alarmed, we chill out the fuck-crib. Airholes. Brown airholes sneaking into open California chambers. Down on that dick highway. New religions York out. I'm completely freaking Yorked.