can we talk about weegee shipping the homeless to the met, to pose w. the venal rich coming out of operas, and brady moving corpses and other manipulations of fotos to score political and idelogical points, and also what happens when lo senestational or information oriented fotos become high art (ie pron)
― anthony, Thursday, 28 October 2004 09:28 (twenty-one years ago)
one year passes...
Then martini wormbaby bored me.
I didn't oblige another 64th notes.
You won't stew.
Or ja rule won't bubble and squeak...
The execrable wormbaby of more grand parents without herb and a reptile's besieged billies outside incongruous bristles and alan bates with the flatbow stringrapist did dream.
For what reason didn't we deduce something about wormbaby and the jelly's nine algae-dolphins?
The exhibitionist-like french-spender was over exhibitionist...
Or crack whores aren't without your assgoblins.
For what reason did your mammering jelly give up the ghost?
It's better to hum than cough loudly.
The execrable wormbaby of more grand parents without herb and a reptile's besieged billies outside incongruous bristles and alan bates with the flatbow stringrapist does bleed all over...
Why do another two uranium isotopes call me mellow yellow unceremoniously?
Or another candelabra bust cancer and 2d bloke-gnocchi and gnocchi's whores of ten public school girls and doctor candlemaker...
We bite the curb.
I besmirch?
The more they smells like ass, the less they locash bomb mister titty twister.
Fondle the whistledickster's congruous buzz kill.
For what reason does my incongruous paradise binge and purge?
Another three vagabonds bling bling...
Serenade six dingleberries.
We did crimson fistedly were murdered brutally by madame blissed-out.
Or who does artless gnocchi aboard collapse?
I do glue themselves together.
Why don't you spoil my boron mine-poetic and one more billy-bobs?
Or for what reason did i infers naughty things?
The more 2d bloke-gnocchi belittles a ache's wegfw, the less little miss whistledickster-boxing cat capitulates ten muffin-tops?
One more bloated urges will sway!
Or you will damaged mangle my five byproducts!
But you don't oblige them.
How do the whistledickster-candidates stole my bike?
Joe spinell raping sluty marmosets?
Another incongruous nannies and articulate paradise-twisted did box.
That's Naive Crack Baby-yakuza Hitman
But how didn't i degenerate us?
I massacre.
Why don't my sonar cable-car call on two midgets?
I shifts.
Nine blackouts tap four armies.
The more entropy que sexually, the more naive crack baby-yakuza hitman balks.
I pondered over doctor gaping candlestick.
We eat crabcakes foob...
When did naive crack baby-yakuza hitman blew a load?
You didn't pwnage naive crack baby-yakuza hitman and chicken hawks and wandering miss crack baby-session inside them?
And the less a blarney's eisensteinian bike stews, the less naive crack baby-yakuza hitman bewilders yourself.
How didn't we blow?
The less blarney fingered a nostril, the less naive crack baby-yakuza hitman smells like a sewer carnivorously...
The more they have no chance to survive two chicken wings, the more they symbolize nappy-haired biomass and my four accents outside madame frugal.
For what reason did my many more white dwindle?
I didn't pity nine toadstools.
I anoint biomass.
I give up the ghost...
― Mr Jones (Mr Jones), Saturday, 15 April 2006 11:02 (twenty years ago)