Tag Archives: parties

The Terms of YOUR Agreement, Explained

Who cares if the disingenuous ant wanted to fight the mischievous caterpillar. Let’s be honest, really honest about this two-toned machination that only started becoming a problematic after the loaded-gun effect entered into the equation. So she was provoked! Big deal, alright! Matters of this complicated nature are a daily occurrence and by no means should be treated as statistical anomalies that fail to materialize. Her defence lawyer argued many-a-times, in previous proceedings, the ant’s propensity or for you schoolchildren of a more respectable social class, proclivity, for a pugilistic one-two after the ingestion of four pints into its depressed cavity.

Either way, you’re all insane, utterly mind-numbed. If you really believe the prosecution in this instance, you are only creating precedence for what is already quite obvious, namely that the man-made statute, erected for the benefit of the public at large, is now being appropriated by those with sufficient ulterior motives, to make me want to discontinue vomiting following a session of gorging on “propaganda popcorn.” Ah, such unnecessary evils.

My suggestion to the mother caterpillar is to stop playing one petulant child off another and rear-end herself into a different cause, preferably at a speed that can provide for her injury as well. No, nothing less than that proposition can ever be entertained and if less is suggested, I shall decree with the intention to repress and if my perfect state of imperfectness ripens by that point in time, oppress as well. Regardless, this cultural drama is creating a state of affairs in which I cannot, at least this time, do my best to avoid. Circumstantial evidence aside, my self-diagnosis is telling me that if I continue, psychological harm might just be recoverable, provided that my persuasive essay grades are high enough to convince a toothless but no less effective geriatric, perched atop an infant’s stool and with the moral savvy of a, pardon me, inflatable orangutan (sans the orange hair), that I, above all others, need legal treatment in every sense of the two words. Take this offer as you find it, I am not willing to sacrifice more of my continued perseverance, so that you may find yourself yelling at a television set without probable cause but most likely with an insanity conviction shortly after the foundation for the prosecution, a blind congregation of near-sighted bats, with four-year plans and a penchant for ridiculously low-rates, discovers that inside your chaotic but surely idiotic exclusion clause, you have hidden the terms “in no way” and “liability,” so as to inflict upon those less brilliant, a harm that lacks both an intention to ridicule and the act itself.

This all brings me back to my initial claim, in which I have every right to demand that I be reimbursed for my losses under the Fake Names Act 1429. My black-belt in corruption shall be honoured and principle will succumb to your will only insofar as you will bend to my desire for corrective justice in the playground. It is time the elephants met me in my office, or, if so desired, down at the Zoo, where we all can partake in the ginger petting of innocuous animals for the promotion of the public good. Otherwise, if the dinosaurs get here first, and I do mean what I say, I will only be open to negotiations if they furnish me with polyester dentures – must be made somewhere, anywhere will not suffice – and a carton of desperate vocal chords that were stolen from a location I will provide you with once I have made myself aware of what it is that I want to steal.

Repudiate at your own risk, but I do warn you that the offer is final and if you provoke me, unilaterally, arbitrarily and absolutely binding too.

Note: If you find the act of swallowing hard, please seek professional advice from a confectionary salesman. They’re trained to alleviate matters of such discomfort and will only recommend the most noxious of pleasantries, if of course, such are deemed necessary to cure your anxious but rather macabre depression.

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Filed under abstract, agreement, contract, law, life, philosophy, rant

one eyed purple-pee-ple party like monkeys with underwear on their heads

[experimental: 2]

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the life of rock-star small mouth bass-like fish(ies). append your list of niceties here, and then replace nice with a creation that shadows your most excited state of being.

it all started out with two formen, drilling holes into a party scene that kept the spirit alive in both the letter and the decapitated latter. j1, plug extraordinaire and prodigy child winner of the 2007 Largest Plug without a Socket Award, while j2 had enticed monkey into a preliminary headlock, proceeded to award the latter party with the former party’s most dedicated piece of dentistry, a toothbrush. don’t fear what happened next. j2, upon discovering that spain had in fact defeated the british (in his dreams), then (and without doubt), extracted the foreign object from his sherwood forest of fairy-tales, three legged motorboats and detrimental affairs. it was tragic, but not as tragic as movie-speak. monkey was not impressed, of course. however, this time, instead of woofing, he barked and then bit.

d started to philosophize about suns and their correlation with other proximity objects, like [more] suns, neighbours and other first year anomalies. requirements aside, it all really started with a blow of the horn, a vicarious attempt at reminding the south-side that the kid they call ‘oprea’ really did exist and was not just a distant cousin of the party animal loch-ness. fuck you. and fuck snow white and the seven little chemists. how about that for a feature film review?

resuming.

snow-fights only happen when wild colombians embrace pacifism with the intent to prosecute freedom and the expression of reproduction. without any concern for wild animals, small foreign game, or other superior creatures, the anti-socialist riot begun. left. right. back degrees. similarities, differences, exponential criticism – they all survived without the consequences of settled dust. and then there was the biggest government intervention of the Year of the Ceasca; consider this: if nicaragua had pinochet, we would all have been incarcerated for eating ice-cream and sucking lolly-pops.

d said mommy. or maybe it was mummy or maw-ma-wee. it’s the sun allusion that still survives. and then whisky was mixed with chili and they all spoke tongues that have not been heard for seventy-four dog years (ears are for the phonetically challenged, those with ADD and prolonged dyslexia).

resuming again.

some chevys, some levies, some pasta and s just asked if we’re blogging. d is talking about santa-claws. “and he let them know that he ain’t kidding.” t3, a strong chemical in and of itself wants to tell you a joke: “chuck naw-mate-norris just counted to infinity.” it’s true and so is t3’s dedication to early-pubescent virgins. i spoke too soon… or maybe it’s chuck norris that has that proclivity. fucking precocious.

nbc? mal-infringement? left and right leg? water? watertight? who the fuck is g4?

don’t read the below, read the above.

j3 wants to spank my monkeys, although, we will concede that the real monkey can’t and won’t have any of that nonsensical shenanigan(s with four plural ss).

here comes the 2007 award winner: “crocodiles without gats? small kittens? or fluffy snowballs, but really, i wouldn’t use that word to be perfectly honest with you…

ok, you can read now but skip…the diseased pet and the one-eyed flying purple people eaters…

p.s. t3 spilled a 97% empty can of ginger-ale on the macbook. donkey ass.

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