Wednesday, April 13, 2011
This album is pounding with repetitive originality! Your generation cruises to victory but thankfully my generation slouches to moderation! There was not a single second while listening to this album when my son was not up and dancing with his hind-legs, signing off on the prerequisite (exciting) saucy synths with his right front leg and creating the world's first pure supergroup of British journalists with his left. For the entirety of the album, he was addicted to the band's slow-light strategy and spastic epiphotonics intrinsic to the album's first side in particular. So, in totality, we assign this album 2 out of 5 stars, in perpetuity, with rare exceptions, unnoted in this forum.
Sunday, April 03, 2011
I blocked your accomplishments by first taking abysmal modern pop and combining it with your harsh remarks from early in the seminar. This caused an enhanced program delay involving as many as thirty factors, according to experts. Additionally, several attendees were treated for sitting injuries by introducing quality bacteria to their drinks. The final seminar of the weekend was surprisingly boring despite having a very catchy title ("The Ghost of Shit") and covering a wide variety of engrossing topics like saddle sores, subwoofers, and eyes that can be implanted in a human fetus and later harvested when the child becomes a teenager and used as a cooking substitute for real mint.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
This particular professor was known to have conducted some subtle experiments that reverberated backwards from the shadow of degenerate freeloaders, thus making all previous theorems obsolete and making hugely fundamental releases of neat ideas seem as though they were written by hacks with emotional problems. On occasion, the subtle experiments got to be so brutal and vile that they were no longer reverberating backwards from the shadow of degenerate freeloaders, but rather reverberating forwards from a long profound glance at half a boy. So anyway, that's why many students avoided his courses, but I have actually forgotten your original question.
Monday, March 07, 2011
His body was shuddering under the weight of all those trinkets, his face turning a very pale shade of pale and his plaster trousers were beginning to crack around the knees. Among the trinkets, he had several "now mechanisms" including some tiny (and harmless) journey innovators and some even tinier business guys spewing the tiniest barf. I thought it was going to be entertaining to see what happened when he reached the point where the surface of several multi-colored light switches converged with the Earth, but alas, it came and went with no kind of conflict. Eventually, his mother arrived at the location at which she had deposited him, broke off the plaster pants into plaster cut-offs and helped him carry the trinkets home.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The Corporation has spent billions spraying the best diseases on the city and its surrounding areas, and now we have scores of little girls coming to us complaining of little twat sores. In an effort to deflect the bad PR, we have decided to begin pumping the best diseases instead into nice hot doughnuts, because everyone loves doughnuts, and if they don't they deserve diseases.
Speaking of twat sores, I was appalled recently at the insanity of trying to get some action with the intern from Colombia and nothing being unzipped! I was questioning the health of her mentality attitude and her future at the Corporation when this dude suddenly lunged across the room and bulged against her nature. Since my slippers were padlocked to the desk, I instead transmitted two randomized debates inspired by one of my own childhood interviews about ramen noodles directly into his brain, causing him to cease bulging. Unziption is sure to follow such a heroic act.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Some of the things I remember most about my first girlfriend are the lavish attention she pored over the yellow dye used in Jamaican military uniforms and her weird fetishes involving common buckeye butterflies. Oh, and now that she is on my mind, I also just remembered her miniature smock-frocks, on which she was always wiping blood of one sort or another. It is only now that I realize why that drawer always smelled so bad. One afternoon, when we had finished with our daily adult seismic fantastic romantic encounter, a random functioning male stranger suddenly appeared in our bedroom doorway and collapsed our innate sense of tiny electron propulsions (we both have it) by simply binding blossom devices together with a jazz-tinged flourish of the wrist. Naturally, we were spellbound, but knew that it was just a diversionary tactic and that we had to create thirteen unique gourmet sandwiches before the butt-ends of the tongues' journals hit the floor, or we would be eliminated. We forgot about the electrode we were supposed to avoid and pushed the section of the floor they said not to press, all of which created a falling/trapping scenario, and that was it for us-- we were forced to pack and leave the house immediately. And then she broke up with me.
Monday, February 14, 2011
"Energy Solo Fair this weekend!!!" screamed the handmade sign stapled to the cock of the corpse found in a dark alley by police officers earlier in the day. So it was decided right there and then: the entire family would attend the Energy Solo Fair, but first we needed to find the location. We covered the grandchildren in glitter and told them each to pose in a way indicating the possible candidate location. Adamaddict (the slow grandchild) immediately posed as the Amsterdam Anthropology Site, as we all knew he would. Oklawards, on the other hand, had had enough puzzle days to come up with something really helpful, but in the end posed as her paper funhouse and we could tell this was getting us nowhere. The adults decided to shove cheese in the children and perform experiments on the resulting headaches in the hopes that the children would hallucinate the correct location. Well, long story short, we never figured it out, so we just sat around the living room while Adamaddict performed a retarded rap approximation to the accompaniment of his cellular device. Honestly, I could have used a quick varnish irrigation at that point.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
It has been my experience that married fruit comedy couples tend to do a lot of spite jokes. One would think that they had already been through so much hatred and pain in their own lives as married fruit that they would refrain from such spiteful attitudes, but apparently this is not the case. I once saw a brilliant set by a high-resolution, fearsome-looking councillor who was able to bring the house down without stooping to such "poets' pebbles," all the while demolishing prejudice-populated planets with witty observational intersections and bold, revealing glitter swoops between his breasts. Additionally, his act boldly encompassed a horizontal written-written dance, the likes of which the comedy world had never seen and will perhaps never see again. However, in fairness I must add that I actually saw his flesh again last year and honestly, it was a dreadful performance not even worthy of a consumptive wet nurse on a river-- with or without her skirt.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
His huge rotting genitals were overflowing with spiders' legs, spilling all over his broken mother's broken heart-- and this at the breakfast table! Ever since he lost his job as manager of the chart-topping algae supergroup, Brain Sales, he spent all of his time searching for other parasites instead of feeding on himself. The pressure of coming up with "the next algae band" was just too much, it seems. At one point, he thought he had stumbled upon the next big thing when he discovered a way to musically control peptides, but the liquid writing heard on the first album, "Peptides Sing in the Experimental Thieves' Kitchen," all too quickly turned to biochemical degeneracy and auto-tune on the follow-up album, "Rock 'er Nice Vag."
He collected the spiders' legs and went to his study where he wrote three story-songs for the next virtual newcomers, no matter who or what they would turn out to be.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
"Innuendo, as we say in the business, is above commercial practicality and is only noteworthy for its recombinant peel proteins," the host of TVs Flamingo Fortune, Heather Alexander said as she leaned back in her daughter's womb, loudly powering up her new pitching bow and thus making it nearly impossible to continue the conversation. Despite the noise, I tried to titillate this track tissue tease with some tired chords and a few elderly improvement needles, but alas, twas not to be. The host of TVs Flamingo Fortune, Heather Alexander then mentioned something about solid modification on top of some veering beats provided by the Glossy Gurls DJ Team, who happen to be close friends of the host of TVs Flamingo Fortune, Heather Alexander and were hanging around spinning the other day, no shit.
I had eventually had enough, gathered my laudable casing-systems on course development and stickered a three play way right out the door.