How does our catastrophically-nitro-cool-whip-dude-withe-deluxe-lude-alt.blogOrammathons help you? A: by giving you hope! repentance! bedside! so we can journey to Heaven: I’ll personally serve/love you for eternity, girl:
Wanna summoe! more! more! ‘garnished, can’t-touch-me, play-that-funky-music-white-boy’ adventures4eternity?
WHO: yooNeye, ya WonderWoman, ya stimulating, sardonic satire, ya girly-withe-curly
WHERE: start at the RongWay cafe Uptown *R is backward; fits nicely into W*
WHEN: forever (or until evil is eradicated like a big, nasty roach: D.R. ‘Demon Repellant’)
WHY: defeat-the-deviant-dudes with endorphins, 2 beers and pretzels: we go all ‘round the universe stampNout evildoers with us as wildcard, wildchild, 33rd-level-ninjas
HOW: if you put God first, God will be in first as we kill-them-with-metaphorical-kindness at mach7+
Q: Why dost I paint the 7thHeaven effusively thus? A: Who doesn’t wanna be a benigNinja? Who doesn’t wanna rockNroll after on the beach, morphin-into-full-size-reality-for-infinity, a zealous expletive under a Simpson’s sky, palm trees swaying, never-ending-drinks, your adorable bikini with girlish parts. Ouch, dude, cubed.
You're everything to me, girl gorgeous:
you’re everything to God.
Our Band name? Mixed Nuts.
Depressing how many still don’t know what the word MORTAL means (‘ephemeral exoskeleton’ which all humans have is simply the corporal body); lemme explain that unruly, wild word to those who don’t yet know we have only a short-time-left in the outfield.
First, we’ve established the AXIOM which says: ‘As a mortal, I’ll perish whether I want to or not’. Think next of our weeerd-O-blogOrammathon and what happened on October 30, 1985 after school on the way to a debate practice. Last, center your finite lives around the absolute Truth which I now know as a Near Death Experiencer - dunno why a lotta U.S. are so squeamish ‘bout REPENTANCE if I saw Heaven (as have millions of others) as a 10-day-coma-survivor. Look-up/re-read the maroon word above if you’re still not too sure ‘bout the meaning.
I wrote this to the opposite sex nevertheless to ponder the lovely-Upstairs-playground-for-kids withe oemnillion X oemnillion X oemnillion ... years of recreation, when, nefarious from the Truth, I was undoubtedly the finest oxymoronathon in town: like cold coffee, like the black Styx of the filthy underworld, this outta-the-way-planetoid is simply an illusion when sHe gets through with Her mocha break. My Bizarre-O-Gourmet-7thHeaven has all the five-star-Fe-nominal ([Fe: Latin word for IRON]):
Tell me, dear, what’s your address in Eternal d’Versailles? Dunno? Never thot about whenst thou shalt croak, my just and worthy liege? I have. Twenty. Four. Seven. I even ‘schleepitzzz’ (<- another truly mysterious, Anglo-Germansk word, circa 1375?) pondering, dreaming, longing for my demise once again 2B1 with Her. Here’s the directions to my fully-funktuational/oddball-condo that’s, like, major-quadrupleplex-rogue, baby: 111 RockSolidAve, Dorky-Milky-Way, ZigZagExodus, Gaudy-and-Generously-Will -I-But-Serve-Thee(as-a-part-TNT-time-bomb). Yes, Queen of Frappz, quite the odd, long address, yet ask your guardian angel to help; she knows exactly the right galaxy outta the millimillionbazillion planets.
Get this, talldoll, and unnerstanzas: my neon, sub/dude mansion, due to the inexhaustible expectation, exists in the Heavens designed-to-be-absurd: a grandiose, exquisitely detailed, 21-acre/ten-story-stuccoish-house in a ‘cul-de-sac’ with mountain-bike-trails all-day-long we may conform with our thots: Heaven’s fulla the most GODy-opioid-elixirs, hours-and-hours/days-and-days of holodeck and adorable lizards ‘climbing-up-the-walls’ we’re so bloody crazy (that’s, btw, 888 hours daily for 1,000+ years on our timewarp, warpspeed, party-hardy, psycho-honeymoon - like the small KTrail yet 99-Andromeda-size-planets/scenery at almost every turn). How large is AND/ROM withe extended-superclass-trestrigentatrecentilliduotrigintatrecentillion yeeers with captivating, wing-nut-sizzle thrown in (God never likes to be outdone)?? Follow me.
...I wanna have 10-literal-levels of bumper-cars (a planet just made for ‘em). several enormous planets devoted to dogs, dogs, dogs - they’ll talk, too, but you gotta be cool. And chessboards all-over-the-universe (even several planets where you have clones for pieces - the knights are beyond stunning - talking horses, too, wildNfree). And §morph/yoga§ - gotta see it, man; BeeeYond Anything Yet Pretzell. And a HUGE gym with a sound stage at d’BOMMs for our thrashing. Kick-some-Botox.And many mansions will have a sound studio to record our band. And zip-lines going between worlds. WANNUM!!! And trampolines minus the ‘turn-it on/off at will’ gravity. And a whole lot of saunas/hot tubs. And a whole lotta cool-pools after, Miss Fire. And back rubs to die for: DO NOT wanna miss; 1, 2, 3 or more extra arms for caressing, loving (only at d’BOMM). And we’ll most certainly howl withe wolves when the moon’s arising. And theatre/opera for the precocious and precious. And we’ll have a far-out-band - dunno wot we’ll sing. Haven’t gotten that far. We’ll even play put-put withe moons. And! Lt. Col. Pappy Boyington and I shall fly our HUUUUGE, stunning, F4U Corsairs (with lasers!) to demonically-infested-Nibiru: Strafin, dog fightin, kickin-some-Botox, sendin’m to Hell with a nasty manicure again. Glory2God!!!!!
...And lottsagobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbsNgobbs ... of books. Gobbs. A whole discombobulated gob. Glorious, gorgushsatirical sardonic-wurdz, overwhelming volcanos, paradox-of-pens, surrealism is seductive: She is an untamed, exceptional, brilliantly-bizarre-collideOscope. Troves-O-decisive, derisive, divisive novelties which we shall write. Libraries upon libraries upon libraries on other worlds of luxurious, poignant, blazing, indelible-cargo-ship-of-language, the gaudy vault of the Infinite Continuum. Priceless. The number just below ‘forever’ is ‘oemnillion’; you can certainly VitSee where that leads: in our cozy exaggeration, dear, God never runs outta paper nor pens in Her ultra-psycho, gargantuanly-ironclad, gotta gobba lotta vivid nada wurdz from the Civilization’s Psychoanalyst, ya gorgeous, wild-flower you. Wannum? They’re deliciousNutritious.
...And literal-universal-WiFi without taxes. And gazebos to gaze-for-days at the scenery or each other. Or both. And plenty of towers for bungee jumping, flags flying from the rocket ship, purring, whisperin’ beckonin’ almost saying, ‘fly-away, fly-away to infinity’... sHe, with an engrossing accent, shall never again let sheNme be hot without A/C ...except love making which we shall populate the universe -worth more than all 7th Heavenly amenities: enjoy the highest returns on our literal ‘pie-in-the-sky’ investments.
My ferocious intimacy with young/mature women Upstairs? Subtle, stupendous, fire-engine-zeal: skiing, surfin, sailing, snorkeling, cyclin, savvy, sassy, space travel to scarlet symmetry! Elegant ostentation to potent intoxication! Technicolor satire to snuggle and serve: slow, soft, supersonic Sunday School which is basically a lazy-doo-elixir of eXcellent, eXcessive eXaggeration of our lives woven together that’s push-button, point-blank-improv, Miss Adorable. We
A plethora of high-degree, Newtonian-victory-laws in the color-of-wild where we reach to eternity; Heaven’s very, very addicting, dear, which is not too difficult to summarize the conclusion: lottsa gobbsa bedrooms for slow dancing, nekkin, caressin, lovin’... Yes, my love, we’ll party-hardy every, single, evening with wild knights, mysterious avatars, cereal killers/front-row-seats which are subject to unofficial rules.
My planets with gorgeous/offspring girls? Gott’m. Gotta lotta’m. Gotta gobba lotta IQ, too, withe K2 orchestra only accessible to those with adolescent behavior. TOTALLY YOURS, babe. How?? Gotta accept Jesus, girl, or you’re so out-of-order, toots. Gotta. Wanna. Please don’t put your head inside bag, either.
Therefore, let’s accelerate to the Maximum Velocity: wanna join me God’s Wild Kingdom? Chop, chop, dear. Time’s running-out for U.S. in this existence finite. Dijoo know? Time, as an entity, is also mortal: while thar ain’t no time in the Beyond, doll face, there is plenty of time to love due to the superior-supply-of-summer.
