Should I leap from the balcony and back up again like a great big Saint! If I pulled all these daggers out of my firehead I could breathe like a jet in an exemplory way like a sergeant, like a bean. O Heroes, I’ll always need you from this time on: I’m an old bag with a potato-brain. How will this effect the children, an arm to span the ages with a sperm-bank inbetween. I will unplug the freezer when the suffering is over—grip flung loose of the popsicle—it was not a real party. No, Lord, I masturbated on the desk then crossed the Great Sandy. This is my iron, that your fuzzy. It must come as a big surprise I am appealing to Zanzibar. I will never move to Beacon Hill, dust the cameo with a crowbar. Some kind of rare fungus is taking a bite of our diamond. Does it have any extra-marital rhinoes? Only a few satin diving-units which never refer to the sky, whose lips appear willfully removed.