11-10-2016, 12:39 AM
![[Image: 5079702.jpg]](http://www.portrait-photos.org/_photo/5079702.jpg)
When once was lost in summertime
The breeze may streak away
Like flesh from a flagellant nun
Or Mice in threshing hay.
And when all the bonework of a minute.
May fritter banana hue,
A dilute as an old urinal cake
With a mouth-feel of autumnal dew.
Why fear the revenant?
Nay nay! Do not lament
For servers packed with pulchritude,
Of player owned bases
and Zoner arms races
And Omicrons as full as a Campton tube.
For when it spreads - ah, the ichor red!
For all these fallacious farthing fancy - Boo
Not a wit! For in chagrin we forget the flame
that emptiness
is possibility
too.
What have you perfectly precocious lawn-licking priceless (as in, to imply a lack of a price), incontinent putrescent pustule-addled dog-diddled doo-doo-nots done to my freeport?
Get me my murdering hat - I have a need - a bodily need, to slather my aromatic flavours over the bountiful tepidity that is the Zoner playerbase all over again. Time to run cock-wattle first like it's 2013 and the world is newly jiggered.