Friday, June 5, 2009

Office Party Fractide

Bright light from under the crack in the door and a girl who ended up with a typewriter and paper for some lazy reason. The negligence of replacing manifest cruelty for any sort of honestly arrived at horror of the soul. Darkness of the cellar for actual night time. Blood and guts that can be listed off in neat pointless columns. Torture porn and Mommy, why is that lady crying? The true bankruptcy is evident in the requirement that the rape victim be beautiful, hot, or beautiful. Scourge out the Oxford Commas and leave me the fillings. How fast can you eat a box of Glazed Popems. Dutch Mill makes the best and they're good for you if you don't read the outside of the box.

Any asshole can make something gross, but only a stand up comedian can make something scary. Girls wear expensive jeans cut to boy specifications, ignoring hips and lowering the crotch, and worn down to look like they belong to the boyfriend waiting at home in the apartment cooking dinner, out drinking with the boys and soon ready to rut, working late in a black windowed office to support the cobb salads and mimosas of tuesday lunch with the girls, to pay for the boyfriend jeans, who traded in his motorcycle for a brand name stroller and swaddling cloth, who accidentally brought down the world economy and spilled coffee on his jeans, simulated on hers, by toxic artificial coffee ring made in New Jersey and pumping sewage out into the swimming pools of the suburban lives. There's sprawl and then there's sprawl and both are rich soil for more malls. Neighborhoods are defined by the size, number, and names of the dogs found therein. Also how likely are the dogs to be wearing dog clothes? Anyone who puts a dog in clothes will be first against the wall when the revolution comes, when America inevitable goes Socialist, for, you see, black people are all on the same team, and they're gonna play these white people for their freedom, so don't have a sore tendon on Saturday.

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