Llama it down their throats (or... alpaca some heat?)

(read aloud or not at all)

In a democratic fracas we spray citizen seeds, over the net that casts the dark shadow beneath the populists and palm trees. When once I was a mild mogul I curtsied like a japester; my oven mitts had holes so my fingers got the burn. How much and how little we speak of lice and loathing! We smile like a mulch wagon in a sanctuary of gristle. Everlong lotus liars vexate my step aunt. Until poor peanuts consider the Quigley, donate dromedaries and dilate pupils on the papaya-citrus salesmen. Serialize every beating of your heart, sell it like it’s wine and opine for a fermentation seminar! My hermeneutical half-brother Hans has hands so hooflike, of a hairless horse on a canter course, the body of a horse, yes, but the spirit of a dwarf. My liege, your donut conglomeration will thirst you in time; so drink milk, it is healthy for the swine! Understand your haberdasher, his is a hateful stand, of hats and man, his fedoras betray the age; his derby bowlers bowdlerize the language, and berets don’t make him sage. Into every pocket lint must crumble, into every sprocket so slick the gasket does a widget trick, click and I laugh, as midgets scrape the ground addicted to a salt lick; insinuation splayed out like sledgehammer-and-roustabout, with black eyes and an ice pack on a man who is a motormouth.

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