Mastications In One Movement

Mastications In One Movement Lathering on the ranch dressing, mixed with honey mustard grunting; these inhaling engorging souls are finding the emotional precipice, high up and dangling, hanging by french fried ropes, smothered in thousand island arrhythmias. here come the fat waiters, pushing arteriosclerotic meat carts, spangled in barbecued thrombosis and chocolate-covered infarctions, served au jus on peanut butter trays filled with maple syrup cherries and white-creamed heart palpitations. You know what I mean? You’ve smelled those words before, tasted their glazed cordials, licked the candy flowers as they swayed there, and sucked the inner pap of the sweet melon with perspiring brow; now having a reason to wake up, it is time for cupcakes and cinnamon churros with the vanilla-skirted girls, marinating inside bacon and lettuce taxis, dipped in onion teriyaki, sizzling delicious smoke with au gratin effusions.