You Have No Idea How Pleasant It

The Downtrodden Are The Great Creators Of Slang.

The Trombones Crunched Redgold Under My Bed, And Behind My Gulliver The Trumpets Three-wise Silverflamed, And There By The Door The Timps Rolling Through My Guts And Out Again Crunched Like Candy Thunder. Oh, It Was Wonder Of Wonders. And Then, A Bird Of Like Rarest Spun Heavenmetal, Or Like Silvery Wine Flowing In A Spaceship, Gravity All Nonsense Now, Came The Violin Solo Above All The Other Strings, And Those Strings Were Like A Cage Of Silk Around My Bed. Then Flute And Oboe Bored, Like Worms Of Like Platinum, Into The Thick Thick Toffee Gold And Silver. I Was In Such Bliss, My Brothers.

I've Always Felt That English Women Had To Be Approached In A Sisterly Manner, Rather Than An Erotic Manner.

Life Is Sustained By The Grinding Opposition Of Moral Entities.

The Possession Of A Book Becomes A Substitute For Reading It.