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Brinesanity – an abide jar, filled with all the fuqs given.

By

Dilligaf poker @ 5:00 a.m

Was my alcoholic father the cause of my gambling addiction?

If one thinks decision tree, it is about the two pronged fork of black and red. This sums 3. Then you add the 4, of which are 7. Make but the 7 deadly sins and you can name each of your decisions based on a formula made of U-Fu, a deadly off shoot of ape-Fu a style so unique, it had people take math from the exponent of Fu and emotionally convex it with a momentum of self that is unique, and relative to where you are.

Never criticize another for their play, find peace in their freedom of speech, ad give the glory of math to the loving and living decisions you make-as you swing that ax in the Yale of the river, followed by the inward scream of primal fire, a reality…

Do you really think that it should be measured in dollars, or are you grabbing the madness from the skies for want of vice, not victory…all’s well, that strategy brings for fate.
Who was greater?

Those that have no respect, despite what you tell them will be cooped up all night long…but I have Alice in my life, and the rabbit hole runs deep and blank, as a canvas that changes each day chasing dime follies counted upon the digits that measure forth.
So you want to play poker, well I am not LAG, I am DIGAFP…do I give a fuck poker?

No, I just need sleep.

*abide*

By

Be, the ball

So you can see.

It is not about the wrath, it is not meant to be delivered to some kind of place that has to be, but it just is just like you are, I am always down with that madness, and you will see the odd look of the bartender when you say a double crown n coke, a tequila, and a stella…preferebly in nylons and stiletto’s…alas, not going to make a difference.

Momma are they going to drop the bomb, hush now baby don’t you cry…it will be good…so find the traels and walk. That ace was just meant to hit, you are a poker fool if you think variance will not hit you. Did I make the snap, did you. Well, not sure, I got to make the ride, and that was a good ride.

Courts and stripedardaments with nets and mesh.

Yeah, maybe I needed an al pacino slice, heated with the difference of bats and balls being discussed. Using one is an artform in many ways. Feel the burn.

I have a million things to say, I jump in you jump in the button clicks and…so what of it? When you move to the wild side, there is still greener grass.

Indigo skies man.
Orange clouds.
Mad wild times of this and that.
Is the bus passing, or can the mini van ride along side.
Daddy drives a Harley.
Heard it, then rise.
Flatline, cool, still a line and I abide.

So, here at the Zamboni pub your words move.

What you, determine is the most important part of the equation.

Be, the ball.

*abide*

By

Shit talk

I sit here out of respect, and pray you learn.

Just a filtered foto filled with fuqit

I have all my life believed in free speech, and to a degree you do not believe.

However, in front of children…bad. Sri lankin, we are all.one people, and in front of children you strive to teach, and in front of families you have invested time and profit into, and you slur silent consonents about slaves and names.

I will wait in silence, just as this day was and my eyes saw the look of what men spoke of and – agreed, there is no place here for that hatred.

There is only will.

Where there is will there is way, and in silence you will see actions of madness.

*abide*

By

Asshole for Rent

Never fucking easy being a hired gun.

People don’t give a shit – they know you are taking them for the most amount of money, because you know, you are handing your life and your reputation to them on the line – well, with one exception.

You are brought in to kill – them, or it – but kill.

DIALLIGAF?

Thought so.

You walk in this motherfuckin’ way, you do what you say.
Then there comes the day, time to make some hay.
You got nothing to say.
Old man, on your way.
Grab the towels from the floor.
Yeah, you got a floor.

Linoleum.

*abide*

By

Do you think I am fucking with you

The voice on the other line is hot, she is a dangercat and feline of ferocious, fierce cerebral foreplay, as she pushes the limits in the minutes that you speak. The escape from the shadow cast down from your mighty partition, you fly your jet ass around and command your domain, but this, this meager wretched day filled of clients chirping like chipmunks, and you listen to the drones that pull your strings.

Dance, you marry innet, and dig the boogie machine.

Wow – an outlook, I get to now type her name into a screen. This makes it real. You have become an emotional you, born and in and of a state that is Fed like in creating a currency you trade for the moments of your days. Private banking be damned, buy thee a glorious silver rock from the ground, and here in this world you get to play a role that involves thinking – heels and stockings, office, hottie…yah, paperwork right?

My ass.

The jokes are cute facades, for a primal desire, and natural instinct to be attracted to good looking, gregarious types – humor should never be underestimated, and there are indeed jeweled levels that unlock the mighty treasures, make no mistake about it…it always lurks, this need for ubiquitous powerpoint in a bra.

There is that thrill of talking to a hot female voice, in the background you hear the strategy she has laid out for the task at hand, and you think about the job involved around it, and the mind wanders amongst projections and pro-forma enhancing steroids that tilt ds ratio’s on their sides, and leverages the gains in the thrusting freak show of a conversation that is going on.

The font on your cards, is a raised Helyeahtica 14 point. Steadfast black.

That laugh, just such a song really. Like the radio you dial too when the frequency is answered on the cell phone, or the media machine that is hollowing out the days. You answer and hear the one song you like, the one band. Somehow, this band, width thy hands do thy strum, a great belly warmth of me’s and ways.

Seriously, does this even need d description.

Gutterball really.

*abide*

By

“All your life you are told ” – Nike

All your life you are told the things you cannot do.

All your life they will say you’re not good enough or strong enough or talented enough; they will say you’re the wrong height or the wrong weight or the wrong type to play this or be this or achieve this.

THEY WILL TELL YOU NO, a thousand times no, until all the no’s become meaningless.

All your life they will tell you no, quite firmly and very quickly.

AND YOU WILL TELL THEM YES.

The big corn is a good sale.

Follow the light. You can just do it.

Be the big corn.

*abide*

By

Wa Wak, A – 382736

I was 5.

Bobby, was riding some heavy dirt.

We did not know each other, until last night.

Is this the 28th degree of separation – no shti, as in totti rottidel madri…wow, what a small world.  Well, time for the stop.

Thank goodness it is not making the rain.

Phat knew how to make it rain back in the day, but Big Brother has outlawed rain.

It is clouds of compliance, and rays of respect and love for the better woe.

Man, that was some fuckin’ apple.

Still, somehow it appears as though there is anything more than walking to the corner, and talking shit with a brotherman, or a fine sister on the edge or on the sledge, hammerin’ with the same bitter truth that comes from east European Slavic nations, or potatoe based calves of gorgeous silky stilletoed sadness – how the fuck did this bill get this high – oh poor rabbit, this is but the hole – that is the carriage.

(click your heals here, and look for Jesus – he shaled gas for your freedom)

LM Special - Clear, Still, Cool Drink, We could have been contenders.

“That sir, is a snake.”

Off.

*sigh, now what…the world is so boring without this*

(well, often many of the other nights come, and make me smile, glad to see music still notes itself along the bars that are quartered and counted – metrics of mental rails following high tee, and leathered bags…oh the fine touch of Egyptian cotton…)

For this ode, a glass of Glendullan(d)(sp-ml-fu) 36 – so fine, of course you can scotch, scotch, bo, botch, banana fana fo fotch, fee, fi, foe, motch = SCOTCH…

To the cleaners of the traps, of the kind that spare no grease – thank you for the crispy goodness that will kiss me under the mounds

For the lights, and the wires, spread like the veins of time across a flesh clock, ticking even now as you watch this (*really, you want to watch this…)

*insert classic*

To the little baker, on the street, with the chestnuts, hoping for a better life than a bombing brass monkey on a sunny Sunday afternoon, with of course, John Lennon playing chess using vountry nuts of different denominations, and Einstein – he has on the same suit – HST, well yeah, he is off and setting up the lines, with some kind of Badger pester Pete Tong, who still thinks the world is over, without the use of his cents etc.

Silence can echo alliteration.

All it is, is a ration.

Vowels, so clean eh?

Crisp?

I mean, that would be a great name for a soap no?

VOWEL.

You want to be like the other 21.

Vegas - Godard Knows, The acid, the times, the moments, those still frames of insanity, still like talc on the ass of Satan we drove canyons.

I mean, close to a Hoser Friday night count no?

Sure it will be missed, but not the reason it was written, don’t really know what is.

Will finish this, and have hundreds behind.

Just never wanted to send them off.

Thought it was a little too Stern.

More of an aft, abide kind of dude, unless we are talking about her ankles, or her hair.  Kind of key points, breasts are part of the ankles – never as why I connect the two, it may scar you, so suffice to say, that combination is the chowder.

The blend of noxious love and libation, delivered by fairies and pixies, on unicorns and with bags of gold as a welcome treat.

Grab all you want, don’t give a shit what your color is, what you age is, what your nationality is, what kind of music you listen to, how you group yourself, how you look at others, what you eat, and what you watch, how your farts smell, and what your teeth look like.

You see some fairies and shit with pixie dust around some hot ass and some kind of carriage, you best be looking around for your bearings, because son – those be some great buddies.

Kosta Rican, Feta-dome, There is no thunder here without Winning C. Sheen abound.  Wizard, what fine boots...

*abide*