No Drems, No Trumpets: unusually fricking obtuse

So there I was. I was so doing my durnedest in keeping abreast of the times.

Everyone was, really.

Nuisance and so much noise, was most of it that filters through the cheesecloth, sort of sweating out like condensation on a warm day.

it wasn't that tremendously interesting things were underfoot, was much more to the extent that the very utmost boring bullcrap, "rumors" as is said in the good book, beguile so many when in disguise.

As you Americans say, "U. F. O."(what is it that you are implying?).

Meatloaf, again?

Until you hit the numbers with the right attitude, yes, motherf*cker, its meatloaf again.

I mean, these folk believe in karma, pretty hard, it gives them hope. Inflecting their own self-beliefs onto an unsuspecting populace. Imparting, like, wisdom, and sh*t.

I had not one or two days ago finished a story about people rebelling over meatloaf. It had a revolving menu of spaghetti and meatloaf. John Keats. Warden said, as he upped the steam boiler heat, to shut the offending area's windows.

 

Modern Twain-ism.

There but for the grace of God.

Sauntering about in my rooms in duress, I confronted the time-old question of "how do I get rid of this smell?". It was them wide noodles, potluck meat, oyster sauce. The antidote was oblivious, of course. First, labels and containers in my fridge, would help(it was sitting like I had forgotten it, but no, no, I don't forget...), but this:

Magic, of course. That was your first thought, right?

Right?

Kubrick Multiverse

I had too much drink and fully slept in the hallway. When I come to, I had my usual self-assurance and made egress. The modern Huck Finn's way of living life: 1 drink, 2 sleep, 3 egress 4 bullheaded self-assured idiocy.

A proud Italian people