“At one point in time, we all get older, and our ass pores turn into tunnels for the grease marbles to just seep out. Eight. Eight, was the count from last night…”
Ass pores have an entirely different meaning a couple of decades post the frat house. Marbles are the least of it; on previous occasions, and this is all of late, these marbles include golf balls, bowling balls, golden Butterball turkey’s.
I know what you are thinking, that these are all happening with the lights off and how do you know? Well, I don’t do it with the lights off, unless it is late or night and I have been awoken by one of these nasty ass poxy pockets, and even then I am either going to be running into the bathroom to see what this gem has in store for me or I am going to use my small Maglite which I have now placed beside my bed on a hook for easy access.
Sure thing, go ahead and laugh. Talk to me when your age added together, has two floor qualifiers – one is that the first number is a 3, and the sum of the two numbers will be at least 10. Think about it.
Good, let’s carry on Sunshtein.
The reason that light and “getting a look” is important, is the same mimic replicated by the 70’s surprise loot bag from a party or the flea market vendor who discovered cheap Chinese shit in a bag bought at wholesale prices off some Indian agent is sold to entice the rugrats of suburbia.
The items could not come out of the ass the way, that is too chunky. They have to be “packaged”. They are glazed with the years of employment, blessed matrimony, and failed online dating encounters that set around an item, and creates this feng shui like polymer around it for easy removal, or storage.
Scroll back up if you are lost, removal or storage is a function of years, don’t doubt that.
Now, using the right length of nail, and no, a cocaine nail is not only so long ago I forgot why I needed such a long nail to drink a soda anyway, and the right amount of digital pressure, you can pop those things like the wasabi pea snap I have alluded to before, is critical.
The nail is the amplifier, and when you plug in and tune out, that delicious sound you hear when you pop that head boil, or the zit at the base of the balls (*if you think I am bullshiting or just being gross, then you are either not old enough yet, or trying to kid yourself into thinking none of this applies to your magnificent lifestyle. Let me guess, you have never masturbated and find the thought of it disturbing? Nice, pleasant to meet you. So can I ask for my three wishes all together, or do you have to go back in the bottle between each one to consult with the other genies, pixies and fairies gathered to determine just why humans actually still debate the concept of time as used to describe distance – fuck, it is a light year, and not weight?) is relief anointed from the assholes of the co-workers who have set their spell check to accept orangutan and orangekatans.
The use of the light is what allows us to stare at these marbles like tiny mirages of the past. Cat’s eyes, corkscrews and Hurricane Aggie perfection. Larger marbles and smaller ones, some even accompanied by – gasp, a metal cross, yeah I know. It was even like 3 dimensional. Fascinating, if you think about the amount of RAM used in that technology, to achive what it had done in the centuries before.
So within in the marble balls, you can look and stare and swirl and be amazed at the fact that as you lay there in the bed, just giving that little scratch a go, you snake the tip of the glassy surface, and it is like spotting that clown face on the shitty white paper bag, except this surprise is not filled with fraud like that bag.
No, it will tell of all the Butterball turkey’s your milky ass just stored in different parts of your body as you golfed in Maui for two weeks so you could watch Marty from Marketings “tactical” division for the next 52 weeks learn how to embed a fucking coded link into that mystical pie chart that changes colour and syntax weekly, but maintains the same dry drone of the bowling alley.
That is where you sat, and indulged in all those glorious onion rings, never aware that the same sneaker fluid used in the butane charged canisters was used after the beer battered dough had been fed nutrition by yeast and misery, and just as it needed to seal in the freshness. Well that shit helps the embalming process anyway, so the good news? Keep these marbles for the funeral home, they offer a 3.24% (*going published rate, as referenced in today’s Empirical Propagation Today, a US Fed daily periodical. It is CIA Fact Book affirmed, so it’s kosher) for each 1 gram.
The small golf ball marbles are not only beautiful to look at, they are Martha Stewart’s favourites, and if you eat enough calcium in your diet, combined with all of the extra salt consumed in the typical North American diet, you can shake these small marbles and see snow flakes whirl around pictures that reflect those perfect childhood memories like the annual piano recital Aunt Voola’s mole would entertain the family with, or drunk bumper cars with dad on the way home from the season finale of Streets of San Francisco.
I am assuming as we get older, there is going to be a lot less of the bigger things, I mean they have been festering in there for all these years, so the removal of them has to mimic the typical peak and trough pattern in the Falling Wedge trading pattern – where we see plateau’s that drop off things like body validity, ball sack/chin elasticity and what not.
Going to go get a collection of the marbles for the next couple of days.
Some hard core brinesanity on the go, and I think I am going to ride some of the gravy train.
Armstruthtonged is about to arrive.
A dozen beautiful marbles that have been sanctioned by the precious declarations of O’pratato and Sir Armstruthtonged, and commissioned by a small trust that Fetada Inc. has put in place for such occasions.
Truth can be served with the salad fork to the left of the proper spoon, or it can be served via tongs. Huge, platinum tongs that toss brass balls, or ball, like olives.
Eat ’em up.