The special “sadness” bongos will be playing all night. Your rancid plumage makes my trachea tingle. The tongue is the only muscle in your body that can be seen by koalas while you sleep. Being a were-raisin is especially dangerous. An enveloping black cloud carbonates my blood with pockets of emptiness and it’s a crisp refreshing feeling. The soft grunge exhilarates you! I can smell it in your eyes. At the instant of engine failure, an airborne proctologist should rename herself Cephaloquariel. “My scratch-n-sniff pet pygmy yaks are coated with Teflon to deflect stains,” bawls the figure from the castle in a hollow, hideous voice that I’ve heard somewhere before. I admire the thanotarian flubhumanist who can’t manage to commit suicide but dies trying. Let’s taste-test teas brewed from the navel lint of undead jumbo bumblebees whose faces resemble pugs via natural selection. The eyes of baleen turtles are located within the shell, behind the grille of bristles, and thus cannot be seen. Do these elongated, spade-shaped hooves make me look flat? Required delusion: I baked a sweet potato simply by holding it in my left hand. Keep in mind that your beagle puppy is not perfectly spherical. It is actually squashed in a bit at the haunches and widest at the muzzle.
starkmyarc asked: you are a true inspiration
Wait; what? What did I inspire, exactly? Does it involve your household? Are you growing flowers to replace your hands? Are you doing that thing with ether that invokes coughing in shellfish? (I’d like a basket of coughing prawns, actually.) Are you building something out of shrapnel I sent you when I was asleep? What did I inspire you to do?