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21 March 2012

Brompton’s

Bromptons
Squeeze me a Brompton’s and blow my joint while I eat this bird. I have a hard on for the kind of orgasm only a world class hooker, or a hard shot of junk provides. My old man got tarred for drinking this bug juice, but I don’t care about tar – it’s the feathers I object too. I’ll blow my own brains out before I let anyone turn me into a chicken.

Those cold blooded bastards down at the lizard house have it in for dissenters who sup God’s own from the crystal cup. They incarcerate anyone who jacks up or spreads a little green on his lungs. Their war on drugs is a futile exercise in enforced conformity. The pressures of the market lead to standardisation and the ubiquity of mediocrity.

Prohibitions cause criminality which keeps the law enforcers in business. Everyone is a would be snitch. Everybody is an enforcer trying to gun us down in a hail of psychic bullets. Pour me another baby; I’ve come over all terminal. I need to cradle my consciousness in velvet gloves.
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