You can overthink the match . . .
Enter the go-to-blazes hero . . .
He is a torrent of abnormalities.
He speaks not but a sincere psychotic whisper.
And what agony–a cascading nonsensical bafoonery that a particular organization is tickled pink with.
Misfortune, a maronic comedy show ad nauseum, a maronic comedy revue. Pure puke.
What man aches for sanity when madness is treated like a God.
Nietzche’s Dionysus. Dionysus’ Nietzche.
The sex may be omitted. And the female revelers may not eat the flesh of those borne as they do their rout.
But death is near. And death whispers to the hero, “Kill them all!!”
Did you ever ‘ear such a bunch of crap–deafening! Greatest shit pile we can create. And then we don’t clean it up.
First, we have the ostrich feathers. Then, we have the laggards unwilling to make a full committal.
Or did I hear wrong? We give it a try. That’s good. But do better. Do better.
Way to go for the beginning. Start to accelerate. Pacing on a 24-hour clock is demanded. Perhaps, yes, perspiration on your brow, as well!