🚀 go-pugleaf

A lie to begin with reduced to the rubble from which I might slovenly
emerge, striking quickly but, as I type, often incorrectly; is there
white-out for assaults?:  Mister, couldja tell me the right way to
overabund with devotional tracts, glad or morose or inbetween times
of our lives (don't just yet not pretend to have done with noticing:
sorry, yr right as always as always as always as always as always as
always as always, it's gaeilge, typing too quickly, badly, it's this
exhaustion, y'see, okay, that's the lie, it hasn't been, what, 50 hours
straight, but it's been intermittent and sparse in coming, often when
it should, the buzz of primal awareness (movin' up a level on the
R-A-W schemetolography, yum-yum) screeching, and so I insteadfast am
the very modelible of restlessness; est. (Ode to Statistics:
             As the client wonders aloud
             When the monthly reports'll be done
             Without a sound, I look around
             And, finding, grab my gun,
             And, finding, grab my gun.)
total time tween the twin tweed terrycloths (urk.) ~= 10% over that
period: I'm too busy windowering these costumed verandas, a final
picture in which to have the passport solidified (does one need that
just to toddle on o'er to the Olde Time Religion in the Hot Town Tonight
or can unprepared cooks and the ilk just %show%...), making plans only
wanting what's best, the pepper to the top has floated, the cancer
in the jar has bloated, and on my way down, I caught sight of a headless
horseman and Smile!d, knowing, cloaked and daggered, She's My Universe.
Lime kilns could not hope to produce enough merging highways & unlabelled
overpasses to forbear my comeuppance and see me some time shoulderings
of this town, this old, craggy, tapped-out town which has fallen upon
dilapidated dates, the double-standard-bearer has suffered some damage,
the castle needs a new post office tower, the tourists outnumber the
residents and we're low on self-tour pamphlets, come back to the 5-&-dime,
Danny Foss, Danny Foss, but for his over-easy rider facade touring
these 50 states or those at need's be he'll entrust mxlipman to please
him forfend and forment (cop: Trumpton Riots, encore (EVERYONE! THIS
MEANS YOU, DANA! (HOW GOES THE COPY CATALOGING?) a-1-and-a-2-and-a-
three...), but not in this perpetual resort village, and, so, out
of the scrap heap, I'll build you these devotions glad or morose
(so, how'm I doin'?), and breezily sway to the chimes of the ravaging
raving wind through these ruins [I said SCRAP-HEAP. I meant SCRAP-
HEAP.] with you, combinatorics and all.  "Maybe, my iatrogenic fiat
and claim to my kept soul, or I should hope, we might alleviate this
agony of cleaving," I'd state, whisperturbastion, "by taking our leave
and jetting over to Baden-Baden to see work fares on the sequel to
_Room with a View_, _Chuckie Went a'Courtin'_, and I would be honestly
and unconditionally moved to hear once again of how destroying chalk
can result in a psychoconsumptive limp, Dar--" cut off by the sound
of airplanes, signalling the withdrawal from the site of rapid-fire
machine-gunning of the LIBoys, declaiming themselves Keepers of the
Refrain (from what?... oh, heck with it, you don't mind, do you, m'dear:
LIBALP, through the stymying attack on someone who won't even read
your attack on FNORD-L because of the wonderful way Usenet fails to
cope with bitnet linked replies, I award you the highest honor (if
I'm the, for the moment, disgruntled former employee Smiling to myself
in between bites of my white bread sandwich, LIBALP's the goateed,
leather-scented, jackbooted (steel-toed, again), argyle-sweatered
carrier of mystic Jewish philosophy books (in hardback, from the library),
and expounder of What It Is Precisely That You Are Doing Wrong, You
Complete And Utter Fool; Can We Meet In The Coffee-House? I've An
Meeting Afterwards): LIBALP, would you marry me? It would have to be
a bigamy taint, that's not a prob, is it, Arthur, ya ol' coot?) in
their toy aeroplanes (Corn Flakes Box Tops, McDonald's Happy Meals,
and Quarter Gum Machines) ------

Yr Ace: Pretty Poison, Darling.  Consider: Yourself Asked.

(She thinks I'm kidding, alas...)

Incidentally, I don't accept them.

M (a touchstonerism at that)