'Instagram influencers avoid influenza like the plague by snorting meth through
designer masks, cutting their side-eyes to throw shade at Cleopatra, for which Cleopatra would smirk, and check herself' -- mrjyn
His conclusion: track 29 ... It drops through his
liver, lover of wine is he who make Caesar wait for Caesar to move
sections from DeNiro to Devito, the last salad they'd let their paths
cross, but to drink Depp under the stick in Barbados was rarer than hen's
teeth or Carter's pills for liver, because there was no table to
tall from which to fall.
effluvium
spit and tears 'crying lot' 96 tears, and ? and the Mysterians and a bitch ain't one hard expression from — ahegao, and she had an Amazon baby which no one there wanted so they adopted it out to the Shaman whose tripping started to annoy them so they gave to their son, the books that they'd brought for the trip of a lifetime, the half-Rimbaud, half-lizard Rococo cracked verse, some poems from Jim Morrison they'd read with much gusto: They be gone. He be gone. Ibogaine on a trip in the jungle, ayhuasca and hardship, there money they'd given, from Yanquis and Capitalists who were fucked up and stupid.
This is a Weatherscan-exclusive production song and is not available elsewhere. The title and composer for this track are unknown.
Feel free to download this and the other 32 narration-free Weatherscan music tracks by clicking on the following
They hadn't been killed, but it wasn't quite over, they had to sneak by the worst part of the nightmare, the FARC had just moved to the Jungle in between where they were and were heading, and they'd kidnap ya first, a million a person, they'd tell you to call, your folks didn't have it, but they'll wait a year till it hurts, then you'll come home so wise, sallow, austere, but inside grinning from luck and it's from ear to half-ear; Tinnitis, Menegitis, and Mallarial pills should just about fix what the dope won't, by damn them at the table, you were telling the story, and half nodded into the friends you told and the expressions they made, with mouths half agape, you'll retell of the sacrament you ate and skip all the parts where you huddled a corner like Jack another foreigner, in a strange land where they all oddly spoke some fine Queen's English, and processed all credit cards known to be extant, and they drove home at night in Toyota's of steel ...
Now Patton, General in the Battle of the Bulge, was desirous of
4 stars, he'd swim through the mud, to beat to the finish Montgomery for Rommel, but Ike really surprised him what he heard on the wire what they did to his rear, so he said hoarsely said, 'Well, fuck 'em.
Who needs sleep when you're dead," and then with his pearl handled pistol like Elvis, he'd joke and look like they'd follow him to the end of a rope.
Hitler or Patton? Which one would you take, in an all Art, Classic History, Allstar debate?
If you said the Fuhrer, you just lost again, because the Eukadol cocktail goes off at 10, and from there with the palsied amphetamine psychosis, he'd be lucky at noon to know where his nose is, but Churchill would also be knackered and gobsmacked by then, with a full champagne bottle and a fifth of cognac, this man drank more liquor than cigars or good quotes, a Churchill is large and the man had a hangar, they said he stocked up in case of V-2s, but I think he just liked 'em and smoked win or lose, but back to Patton, unpareil was he, at the Classical Art of the History of Man pitting War against He Whose Land Someone Wanted, his knowledge was vast and profound and vaunted. He could tell you the regiment from Waterloo to Antietam, Sheldon was smart, but he was just readin', Patton would take first recessitive, while Hitler was waiting for signs from Herr Goebells, he had so many people up there on his Kill list he felt like Jack Lemmon in that Honeymoon movie with his pad and his pen and his lawyer's he'd yell, but the end came for Adolph, when just by bad luck it would scene, there to ID was a work they projected, it was whey and wheat and the Sun nearly on fire, he grew angry and resentful and wanted their heads, but he pulled up his saber and rattling it did, what a mad dictator would do in his situation, he mumbled a name, and he said, 'Please, next question.'
The moderator was shaken but stirred to attention and checked with the judges for correct protocal, when Patton stood up from from his seat head in hands, and proceeded to address Mr. Adolph Hitler, who'd killed half his boys and would walk out the door when pigs could fly P80s and men sat down to pee, he opened his jacket and what could it be, a scene like from Dodge, minus the dusters, and minus the part where the bad guy gets a fair fight, Patton whipped out that cannon and started to sight, and der Fuhrer stood shaking but not from his fright, he welcomed such death by the mortal who'd shoot him, he had wished it had happened from his men but they were all cowards, and this man was sturdy and even Germanic, with a bloodline whose equal was facing him down, he wondered how long he'd get to enjoy it, when Patton discharged him from his state of enjoyment.
'Heil Hitler he said," as he put back the weapon, and the rest of the Reich looked down at the Fuhrer and proceeded to laugh at his corpse, they'd seen it before in their dreams and their nightmares, but it took a man of strong will to dispatch rabid dogs, and they smiled at him briefly till their final prologue.
never endS -- tell your
friendS
'Instagram influencers avoid influenza like the plague by snorting meth through
designer masks, cutting their side-eyes to throw shade at Cleopatra, for which Cleopatra would smirk, and check herself' -- mrjyn
'Instagram influencers avoid influenza like the plague by snorting meth through designer masks, cutting their side-eyes to throw shade at Cleopatra, for which Cleopatra would smirk, and check herself' -- mrjyn
His conclusion: track 29 ... It drops through his liver, lover of wine is he who make Caesar wait for Caesar to move sections from DeNiro to Devito, the last salad they'd let their paths cross, but to drink Depp under the stick in Barbados was rarer than hen's teeth or Carter's pills for liver, because there was no table to tall from which to fall.
effluvium spit and tears 'crying lot' 96 tears, and ? and the Mysterians and a bitch ain't one hard expression from — ahegao, and she had an Amazon baby which no one there wanted so they adopted it out to the Shaman whose tripping started to annoy them so they gave to their son, the books that they'd brought for the trip of a lifetime, the half-Rimbaud, half-lizard Rococo cracked verse, some poems from Jim Morrison they'd read with much gusto: They be gone. He be gone. Ibogaine on a trip in the jungle, ayhuasca and hardship, there money they'd given, from Yanquis and Capitalists who were fucked up and stupid.
This is a Weatherscan-exclusive production song and is not available elsewhere. The title and composer for this track are unknown. Feel free to download this and the other 32 narration-free Weatherscan music tracks by clicking on the following
They hadn't been killed, but it wasn't quite over, they had to sneak by the worst part of the nightmare, the FARC had just moved to the Jungle in between where they were and were heading, and they'd kidnap ya first, a million a person, they'd tell you to call, your folks didn't have it, but they'll wait a year till it hurts, then you'll come home so wise, sallow, austere, but inside grinning from luck and it's from ear to half-ear; Tinnitis, Menegitis, and Mallarial pills should just about fix what the dope won't, by damn them at the table, you were telling the story, and half nodded into the friends you told and the expressions they made, with mouths half agape, you'll retell of the sacrament you ate and skip all the parts where you huddled a corner like Jack another foreigner, in a strange land where they all oddly spoke some fine Queen's English, and processed all credit cards known to be extant, and they drove home at night in Toyota's of steel ...
Now Patton, General in the Battle of the Bulge, was desirous of
4 stars, he'd swim through the mud, to beat to the finish Montgomery for Rommel, but Ike really surprised him what he heard on the wire what they did to his rear, so he said hoarsely said, 'Well, fuck 'em.
Who needs sleep when you're dead," and then with his pearl handled pistol like Elvis, he'd joke and look like they'd follow him to the end of a rope.
Hitler or Patton? Which one would you take, in an all Art, Classic History, Allstar debate?
If you said the Fuhrer, you just lost again, because the Eukadol cocktail goes off at 10, and from there with the palsied amphetamine psychosis, he'd be lucky at noon to know where his nose is, but Churchill would also be knackered and gobsmacked by then, with a full champagne bottle and a fifth of cognac, this man drank more liquor than cigars or good quotes, a Churchill is large and the man had a hangar, they said he stocked up in case of V-2s, but I think he just liked 'em and smoked win or lose, but back to Patton, unpareil was he, at the Classical Art of the History of Man pitting War against He Whose Land Someone Wanted, his knowledge was vast and profound and vaunted. He could tell you the regiment from Waterloo to Antietam, Sheldon was smart, but he was just readin', Patton would take first recessitive, while Hitler was waiting for signs from Herr Goebells, he had so many people up there on his Kill list he felt like Jack Lemmon in that Honeymoon movie with his pad and his pen and his lawyer's he'd yell, but the end came for Adolph, when just by bad luck it would scene, there to ID was a work they projected, it was whey and wheat and the Sun nearly on fire, he grew angry and resentful and wanted their heads, but he pulled up his saber and rattling it did, what a mad dictator would do in his situation, he mumbled a name, and he said, 'Please, next question.'
The moderator was shaken but stirred to attention and checked with the judges for correct protocal, when Patton stood up from from his seat head in hands, and proceeded to address Mr. Adolph Hitler, who'd killed half his boys and would walk out the door when pigs could fly P80s and men sat down to pee, he opened his jacket and what could it be, a scene like from Dodge, minus the dusters, and minus the part where the bad guy gets a fair fight, Patton whipped out that cannon and started to sight, and der Fuhrer stood shaking but not from his fright, he welcomed such death by the mortal who'd shoot him, he had wished it had happened from his men but they were all cowards, and this man was sturdy and even Germanic, with a bloodline whose equal was facing him down, he wondered how long he'd get to enjoy it, when Patton discharged him from his state of enjoyment.
'Heil Hitler he said," as he put back the weapon, and the rest of the Reich looked down at the Fuhrer and proceeded to laugh at his corpse, they'd seen it before in their dreams and their nightmares, but it took a man of strong will to dispatch rabid dogs, and they smiled at him briefly till their final prologue.
never endS -- tell your friendS
Instagram Influencers avoid influenza like the plague by snorting meth through
designer masks, wiping their side-eyes throwing shade on Cleopatra --
for which Cleopatra would have checked herself.
Instagram Influencers avoid influenza like the plague by snorting meth through designer masks, wiping their side-eyes throwing shade on Cleopatra -- for which Cleopatra would have checked herself.
Ahegao (アヘ顔) is a term in Japanese for an exaggerated facial expression of characters (usually females) during sex, typically with rolling or ... why are some of this all fantastic sex cross-eyed about that face?
“exaggerate orgasmic face, show character, receive orgasm beyond normative notion's pleasure.”
“How do you keep your tongue pink?"
"I WILL fucking rev YOU. 1, 2, 3 ... you're a Harley.”
Aheago: Why are cross eyes dotted?
What else about the face makes it expensive to clean, and generates micro-economies over GDP of small countries with its own ladies in Pink Cadillacs driving around like Fonzi on a Ponzi scheme, I mean, franchisees?
“How do you keep your tongue pink?"
"I WILL fucking rev YOU. 1, 2, 3 ... you're a Harley.”
Aheago: Why are cross eyes dotted?
What else about the face makes it expensive to clean, and generates micro-economies over GDP of small countries with its own ladies in Pink Cadillacs driving around like Fonzi on a Ponzi scheme, I mean, franchisees?
The year of driving cars dangerously, and crashing.
People throw cheese, and facial expression is bending over.
His conclusion: track 29 ...
It drops through his liver, lover of wine is he who make Caesar wait for Caesar to move sections from DeNiro to Devito, the last salad they'd let their paths cross, but to drink Depp under the stick in Barbados was rarer than hens teeth or Carter's pills for his liver, because there was no table to tall from which to fall from the highs that those lowest of lows still hadn't popped the chute when you'd hit bottom, comin' in hard this one, having nothing but fun, his brain trying to think and his feet tryin' to run, as that chute chopped up and out and kind of jerked him, the second he realized he needed a top-off, Caesar I or II, you decide, cast past him with a smile he was smirkin' and in his left hand a dram and a color so wan, Depp had to pull back the brakes on the landing upon where he lit like a shot but stopped like a whore he once knew in Paradis, whose passion for him was only at least as dear as his cards would extend, the Louis's and Chanel's and Saint Laurent's he'd wade through to just touch the foot of the one which he paid for was muted in hue more Azerbaijani than Jew, one tone to the few so beige were their impression upon meeting them out that if not for black, you'd keep the light out, and when they asked and squealed about some thigh high fuck-me boot, he'd smile and wonder why that guy got to feel, but that was alright because he got to support it
“How do you keep your tongue pink?
I WILL fucking rev YOU
2, 3 ... you're a Harley.”
Aheago: Why are cross eyes dotted? What else about the face makes it expensive to clean, and generates micro-economies over GDP of small countries with its own ladies in pink Cadillacs driving around like Fonzi on a Ponzi scheme
I mean, franchisees? Effluvium, spit and tears crying lots, 99 times a Bitch. (406)
It drops through his liver, lover of wine who makes Caesar wait for Caesar to move sections from DeNiro to Devito, the last salad they'd let their paths cross, but to drink Depp under the stick in Barbados was rarer than hens teeth or Carter's pills for his liver, because there was no table to tall from which to fall from the highs that those lowest of lows still hadn't popped the chute when you'd hit bottom, comin' in hard this one, having nothing but fun, his brain trying to think and his feet tryin' to run, as that chute chopped up and out and kind of jerked him, the second he realized he needed a top-off.
Caesar cast past him with a smile he was smirkin' and in his left hand a dram of a color so wan, Depp had to pull back the brakes on the landing upon where he lit like a golf ball but stopped like a whore he once knew a Paradis whose passion for him was only at least as dear as his cards would extend, the Louis's and Chanel's and Saint Laurent's he'd wade through to just touch the foot of the one which he paid for was muted in hue more Azerbijani than Jew, one tone to the few so beige were their impression upon meeting them out that if not for black, you'd keep the light out, and when they asked and squealed about some thigh high fuck-me boot, he'd smile and wonder why that guy got to feel, but that was alright because he got to support it, one spit while the other swallowed and vice verso ... they swilled it (Wiley Coyote was a genius who dropped #ACME anvils on the #Roadrunner, and missed on purpose -- so, he looped it).
She got to gettin' steam off getting off like a dream, social media avoidance, networking mandates make a feedback-loop vacuums abhor them, and you sometimes, like the last cocaine party I didn't enjoy: '100 assholes can't shut up while I finally have a lot of cool shit to say ...'. Out come the crocodiles, out comes Ed Lear, from behind blue crossed eyes, Drizzy's reign, raining real 'cry-bait' for people like you and me who love funeral criers, like Diane Weiss on your deathbed or sadder, she's hired! Skin puffed up like peanuts at school, Puff Daddy forgot about Ciroc at Cannes, or Jenny with Alex, from da block, and vice versa Dora Maar (Roy Orbison quote: 'wounds, heals, mars'), and the subsequent dolorous, Dolores Haze, feeling hot tears down face, Dora Maar's burden was to bear Picasso whom Picasso once slapped cross-eyed Tuesday on a roll at the moon crescent, almondy eyed pyramid-high, pharonic, floppin' short stacks on the River, some Mason stuck there to look us over when we blow it out, flappin' short stacks of one's like Martha Stewart's got hot crossed buns -- of Van Gogh iris eyes, ain't cryin' clear, salty tears over dope as cheap as that prehistoric stuff is expensive; her shares have like Van Gogh's, their Iris eyes not cryin', been made whole again, like good dope or expensive old Amber -- no inclusions and on the peridot side of Pantone -- yellows and greens not excessive, perils among coronal carats, disinterested in perfection's rule of 3, where 2's charmant tres, and 4's a nightmare, a 3-star Michelin rating, when they got it the first time; its difficult for most folks to understand how hard that is to make — “ahegao” — distinctive, distasteful, eye-for-eye ibogaine trip to the jungle to find yourself never ends -- tell your friends. (250)
