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Today I had a smashing day at the races. Colonel Masterson was wearing the most fetching blazer I have ever seen, a flattering royal blue with gold thread. He brought his delightful wife, Sissy along and we sat under the willows in the heat of the midafternoon sun. In the distance I could make out the road that lead to Chester, and I remembered
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albion is falling, dying smashing
we are seeking refuge under crashed neo nazi bi planes
they are made of tissue paper and run on corn oil
we are losing the war, my love
hitler unfroze his mid section and put him self back together
on the plus side i looted a bunch of gold records from abbey studios
send help, and the a bomb
desperatly,
wyclef wellington IX
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it has been ever so frightful since you left.
i am perplexed that you have not wondered where petey has been lately, as i discovered him decapitated and in bad need of a good washing underneath my kitchen sink. i'm not sure if it was the cat or the nazis, but in either way my valiant use of the heimlich maneuver was in vain, and we sent him up the thames, ablaze on his mcfly novelty blow up raft.
luckily he drifted upstream before the raft burst beneath him and his body began to emit that terrible charred flesh odour that made my days as a lamp shade maker in auschewitz so bloody frightful.
that said chop chop with the a-bomb as uncle wellington has requested.
i really do not feel a burning yearning to experience another four years of that awful afforementioned smell.
in solidarity,
kitty.
PS: do remember to send me that smack money you owe me.
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