Sitting In A Room Getting Made Fun Of By A Clown

My feet stink. I hate the focking news. Without trust, there is no love! I wonder if it was love or lust as a child, when the people were voluntarily stuck inside the television box because it was their destiny that they fulfilled earnestly. The lovely powdered people pat me on the head with their courageously imparted tales, assuring me that I was stupid enough to believe them, and in this day, instead I feel betrayed. Betrayal comparable to a trusted sales associate and style consultant who ridicules you by complimenting you, adding more insult to injury by essentially leaving you unaware that you were being ridiculed and will continue to be ridiculed for your obliviousness.

The standard of quality to the concentrated peoples is nothing but shallow veins, clogged valves, and a pathetic parasitic reliance on the Earth!