Take
A Guess As To Meaning
To
the Editors:
I am constantly appalled by the lack of indiscriminate word-shuffling
in todays mainstream arteries. Lucco Brazzi once said that
[w]hat I am is not your business, but Ill accept your
offer. Dont think that Im trying to build on the
foundation he left by criticizing your extract, though. Filth is
what they stand for; filth they shall sow. Every attempt at this
kind of denaturalization of our pedal-depressed, pan-chromatic resonance
is just a further modification of the Gestalt.
However, seeking a goal is only a step towards the highly ambient
domains. Pondering the significance of protocol and short-person
behavior is the more effective antidote. What do you suppose this
means? It is my humble opinion that it can only be explained through
exhaustive analysis and shock therapy (which reminds me: Im
late for my appointment). Bin Laden spilled ointment in Poughkeepsie,
and God wept. Ointment oinks in Oyster Bay, Minnesota, where Ollie
and Ojus clean pills. My hair is overrun with pigs and ponies, which
are a poor substitute for smoke.
Sack a Jacobean jellybean and watch the nationalism base itself
in the smoke. Paranoid, dark waters flush in queens and Kansas:
the solution of the Evelynian Paradox of Gravy Lumps is self-evident
here. Extracts and godfathers dance in Greece, while China paints
in dazzling pan-chromaticisms. Persians moderate the festivities,
while Burroughs flees to the other end.
Not being a double-degree student, I am a witness to numerous, flagging
stones of the chrome dinettes. A wiser man than myself once said,
I am the Chrome Dinette, but he looked like a genocidal
gang-rapist with no teeth. He was speaking German, no less. Protesting
the conditions of the short-person behavior-exhibitors, I took a
moment to assess the word-shuffling geniuses of our fine near-miss.
What am I saying? Oh yes, that genocidal gang-rapists are overrunning
our schools, and all of them come from . Make up your own tune to
this letter.
S.
Andrew Smith
Conservatory senior
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