Exquisite Corpse cb ha

The textbook had always born an unrequited love for the switchblade, but today these anthropomorphic objects' relationship to one another would forever change. Tim had posted Understanding Human Behavior on Half.com, so the lonely object knew it had a limited time to confess its love to the switchblade. The young princess, what with her seemingly innocent starry glow and coruscating countenance, had it coming, and she knew that his rheumy listless eyes - transfixed upon the elephant's trunk which stood over the boy's budding breasts (thanks, steroids) like some nether black angel. But what of the fish? And what of the octopi? Threatened on all sides by technocratic-capitalist apparati, the meanest fish and octopi coevolved into some monstrous sea creature. Tentacles flailing this princess knew she had just ingested an overdose of rodenticide, rohypnol, and barbiturates. She staggered with such grave, wavering and undulating, the martyred atheist retained his composure as his entrails were fed to wolves, his eyes devoured by spiders, and his feet gently daubed with beauty powder. He decided, in his last few seconds, that it had not been a good idea to vote for Google for Chancellor. Jesus Christ himself would have been my vote, if only I could bring myself to admitting I have a problem... bulimia, a raging compulsory unceasing yearning to satiate the binge/purge regimen of wafers and grape juice menial and routine in the face of a more militant and masochistic lifestyle choice of plucking out one's fingernails and serving them (unbeknownst) to one's relatives at family reunions in order to affirm one's Marxist disavowal of bourgeois family relations. The princess loved how the spermatozoa seeped from her father's pursed lips, though she always found herself in a lackadaisical and solemn emotionless abyss, but, having read Beyond Good and Evil, was careful not to stare into the abyss too long long, lest it stare back at her. At long last, the textbook leaned close to the switchblade, and the switchblade to the text, and the blade made the juices of sweet, sweet ink flow out of the text until sunrise. When Tim saw the mess, he knew he could only sell the textbook for a third of what he originally posted it for, and not so proudly exclaimed, "Fuckdammit."