the swami positioned himself on the pillow mountain, his gray hair drawn back in a pony tail, tied with a bright pink tassel. "young devotees," the great man spoke in a squeaky voice reminiscent of one of the three chipmunks, "follow me in prayer," AGASHNU AGASHNU AGASHNU. with that the room exploded in a succulent eruption of powerful high strung voice- AGASHNU AGASHNu AGASHNU. three thousands squirrels alone together, reaching up towards the heavens in the Swami's fifth avenue hut- paws through cracks in the glistening mud strewn pavement (this dirty, dirty crust we call Elijah). i have never felt so ravished, so exorbitantly used. ezra, bet your sorry you missed this one you slimy okra fucker.
1 comment:
man, you need to get off this hippie shit and find the One True Faith before it's TOO LATE.
NYC=SODOM="BURNT"
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