Mini Bomb

Push your records over to the floor upsetting your ever so neat pristine world – feckin’ mess! Know your actions before you do them, ha! Catch me now, around the shop you chase me red anger on your face, unsaid words on your lips. I stop dead and you run into me – stunned. Fall to the floor I see you startled, what will he do? Drop my pants around my ankles and turn away from your ugly face, to hideously smile and wave at passers by – ! My fudge leaves my ventricle in a pfffing noise and I waggle my beamer to put dog tail s-turns into the turd, my caramel which falls with wet slops onto your receiver. You swear and breathe at the same time, my filling your mouth with brown dirt, white teeth gone ty – no more clean smile. No more mocking me now my choking you, see your red face due to asphyxiation. No anger here, just a slow death by my chocolate icecream. You try to sit up, I sit my bare plums on your face, feel my own coffee gone cold on your face – unpleasant! Squeeze my **** measles, thrutch more Cadbury onto your finger, rub it into your fingers, sit up and down, pound you to shock with my detonator. Three gurgles you give, one for help, two for hope and three for death. Killed by my brown because you called me a nice normal person in your little record shop. No more plump turkey girl Martha.