Was unofficially saving this, the riffyard where I lifted this dump's subtitle, for the final whatever, but whatever. Kinda struck me the other house on haunted hill, mind and matter meeting over reruns and free beer I forgot about: I'm tired, out of shape, dead & bloated minus the dead but the bloat's a boat not far in the harbor, a place to go in the quest for firing negative reactors because doing so saves lives, or so we're told. Easier said when the Surround Silence isn't 'round tick tock.
Should be a bit o' yay honey since the oh-fer's now a one-fer, but you know, so? Brain's still a tumescent sloth happy to pine box space out, too, see above. Leave summer blockbuster clawing for the undead and characters from Poe.
Hell ain't just them but sing song, yingless yang -- hey, I should use that -- Newton's cradle stuck on static. Okay, five minute rule: sucks. Fine line between yabba dabba doo. A wonder anything's scrawled with this screaming quiet.
But hey, that's on you. J'accuse, accuser. You all through two of 'em, base ten. Seems this is how it's gonna be until we're worm's-meat. Yippee.
Maybe it's got everything to do with me.