NOT Uh... Michael Jackson Song Pt I
The retarded yet wrecked set of redundant words that supposedly become blurred in a huge waste of time to find a rhyme still whine surrounding the supposedly hosed aroma of a secluded herb that swerved out of its sway all the way to sway the sentence that could pay it penance in the sent blend of structure that erupted because of a corrupt rhyme hell bent on the stint that was meant to circumvent or prevent a rhyme of mine... while waiting in line as some spiked punch to be munched on forgoing the signs of the hind end of something sublime to be overrated and then orrated like Nickelodean slime on the turn of a dime weighed out to be just fine as far as a scale could define, yet no sale would be more than fine because of the hail that kept one under the sun sighing at the lies that were despised by the weather man's tie who so far still fought for his job why? Because he got things so wrong but spoke a forecast that would last until the end of time. Separating wine from rhinds being poured because one got bored into. Beer Stein and thought to be weird. I still cheered and endeared that kind of thing. One would wonder what next could be scene in a stream of seemingly pointless chatter ushered under the cover of ths silencing and salutation of said syllables stretched to the wretched wrecked mess of a bet that some pestilence could wrestle with one incomprehensible wager that things would be different later not realizing the rise of redundant rides rightly ready to subside in some say a single night to stretch the strife of some say surreal psychotic steamy sealant that sows seeds to contradict the sickness of saturating gullability for the thrill that is not only a liability but still left to mill around secondary Super Saving bad behaving infomercial stock that must be stopped before it gets bought by sound minded saps that surrender to the fender bender strapped to the stratosphere until it becomes clear to steer so sentimentally that sour milk tastes like ice cold beer drank by a dear before a weird hearing impaired Bombardier shines its skydiving dragon to appear at the last second as an allusion to an illusion that would near the centered splinter straight from there to here and the clearing that it was nearing could be landed gently upon with no bomb just a sign to any of the overseers that the crash of a catapulted consulting crunch to be munched on under the guise of some shears only appeared in the form of fear so that as the peering of one jeering would be made in the rear view mirror barely merrily all next year as the feat undefeated but treated as queer would get the notion to skedaddle in an ear to ear grin because for one to fend away from the Sin of assumption would require the hunting and bunt of the rack to snap stratified sap from a tree to be drained of sap stealing the stereo wave sounds of combat into the nap of a Whacky back to back lap after the fact that the knack of Bambi was not dubbed whammy this time still left to be out of line with the times and that was apparently glaringly daring to fare the bearings of what a now settling heap of metal thought to be fiber glass was instead smoked all night in a cigarette filter instead, at least one could be led to believe yet entranced by the weaving of the dreary and dark country street the completion of one meeting defeat started to seek seemingly meek look of seemingly speechless stance of what some say bleep, we all got to eat but due to the reeking and very concretely streaked seat after the dragon did weep at least for a week for the next close to death experience that would take heat, the Delirium of the weary bearded beat into a tree last minute diversion driver of home grown avoidance that to his surrmounted stash of annoyance at the boiling engine bent on being coined as a coil foiled by the toils of that one so called bereavement right down the street till no one could complete the speech to speak that was needed by the bleeding beaten yet still seated leaky cheetah appearing to be crying yet was just happy because as far as he could see he now had the treat of two things to eat. So far it all seems to be some sort of leap to the one putting their feet in a fallacy of callously driven Jeeps that all speak their history through the mystery of what dirt gets streaked by their tires when the track marks embark to repeat where their journey was to meet the heap of greeted ceded team bringing in a stream of the obscene for the waking dream of leaning towards a nightmare would cause the dragon to become aware that there was a Bombardier riding his scales so he flipped and the warriors parted ways in the sky only to both die by a strike of lightning that even frightened the Cheetah, before the score board of awarded taxidermy from some supposedly professionally directed detective beckoned the for the second time the hectic election of a new direction for the rest of the best of the best to address the new situation of texting while trying to cross the road because one skunk did it before leaving something so stinky the nostrils of even the most hostile beast for one moment were relieved of their duty to sneeze because it was so strong it was knocking the rest of the vest wearing creeps to be depleted by thieves who also hunted at the thundering blunders that were known to leave debris like one of the hardest startled Martian who just landed from the sea of teetering tasty wheat in an arousal of the carousel that would fair a pill to stay away for the jaded laid out buffet of a wary but now merry Grizzly that was still covered in honey but as far as could see was happily dabbling into the sap of the newly tapped tree before he got set free so to speak and finally tasted some meat.
Author's Note: "Did I just read that or did I forget how to read?"
"It is the chemical trails the deer left behind while recovering from a nose dive into the Cheetah's lair and almost getting diverted by a stinky rabbits' foot some idiot from the next town thought was the spokesperson for some new crypto currency..." A voice said from a now over cast height. Believing that to be more righteous than a Skype call than would define the hype of offloading some wannabe horny toad was talking about the day before he was supposed to buy a log of Grizzly bears that looked like Candy when she finished her shift, an epiphany hit the now beat-to-pulp witness who had wondered what could come of a series of somewhat related yet quite unbelievably verifiably visible to at least some other coherent if not delusional persona who might be able to explain more than the purposed internal debate of the safety hazard of hovering in one place that marked the first strike of lightning's first time to living vicariously through the mysticism of an AC adapter found to have a fork stuck in it because it's last weilding transporter that usually bussed it from place to place wrapped in a blanket with some other hard A**shapely entity that constantly complained about being made an endearment term or being stretched out, blown up, and smoked out of. Looking conditionally at the scenario, the time to contemplate the statistically probable odds of accuracy over the summation of what one would yet dare to only gander at the gesture that they too had not only suffered from a crash but were so enveloped in the hallucination that the company van of Almost Meet, a company that documented animal cruelty in attempts to serve a substance stereo typed as "the alternative to enjoying a meal because the least that one could hope to achieve through the indoctrination of becoming able to digest or even swallow the patented glue - like substance would to be to take a horse with horns coming out of its head who had been murdered by being bludgeoned to death metaphorically by an endangered unicorn and while rejecting any sort of reality that an arrow just flew by until it transfered it's life force from the wooded prison being destroyed by the evil that Roman paganism brought in the sense that all shit stinks even if it being overpowered by the stain from an abandoned Gladiator that had just been released to ride along with other Jeeps only on Mondays with a limited supply of ancient remnants of the Unicorn's forefathers' last S***when it became sublimated into pixie dust so one could be transported making minimal effort of consumed energy solely for the flavor that now is being developed by converting the leachate out of the bottoms of trash cans into an intoxicating aromatic soup that could cause enough brain damage that one could forget that they just saw a unicorn beat a bow hunter poaching to the kill of a worn out deer who had resigned to the end of life climb up the government regulated hiking trail to meet the ominous yet secretive spiritual cult leader who is always happy to not only reveal a magical phone booth where calls can be made to an urn that got sat on like three or four planets away or something like that, where every piece of cruelly tortured captive that had been consumed in the history of an eternal life preserver that saved a murderous poacher would be regurgitated from the mouth of the deepest cave where not only to find a nut to help a squirrel make it back to the planet of one's destiny their heads could at one's own discretion could be swiveled so they could see that the skunk was being directed by Smokey who really just wanted to get more honey before the next wave of sap bearing trees needed to be left for firewood due to the fact that after safely stopping and dropping two sheets of acid and then rolling his brains into a rave where even monkeys could wear their owner's sombreros and put out the flames of a disaster that most likely badgers started so they could cook some rabbits before chasing them to their den and becoming fat enough to be a good roast on the 8th day special that always plays at the clubhouse most deer usually avoid because of the upset stomach that comes from living vicariously in memorandum of the deer who still walk the forest being compared to poultry that didn't lay enough eggs drawing attention away from the real culprits who not only convert the direction of a lightning bolt into another inter galactic tree murderer but have to rely on a beary hairy pescatarian to clear out the possibility of being cooked to death and not being able to be digested by a capable fertilizer producing machine so that they too could turn into a tree some day...
After contemplating this ominous perception that only would be possible to be able to stem from a sound so faint it could be deemed as a whisper, another voice from behind the newly recognized Plutonian venturing the wreckage of a now oveflooded forest due to all of the coverage that Poseidon talked to the sea turtles about when they wanted to find if they could be counted as sea shells when the hot beach babe did roll call after smokey said stop drop and roll on his DJ nights for the woods people who also preferred sap over honey. This could have been because some body's aunt started am aunt colony right between the two forests that intersected before getting half way to the dragon lair that was now being looted of collectible armored memorabilia from the universal horse ride that only a dragon could entice by burning through his nostrils until what was left of a scale holding a bridge together melted into a goop that could bond metal to a challenger of the taste preference of a honey bee that still would buzz around to keep those that emigrated as the smoke was doused by Poseidons right handed marmalade once he learned how to turn seaweed into a net to drag wooded creatures to the bottom of the ocean so they could be tortured by ths crabbiness of the lightning bolts magnified thousands of times before he put his fork in their sockets.
End of Pt I
-G3
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