a social phenomena whereby the subject seeks to bolster their immune system to the undesirable after-effects of alcohol cf hangover
but a dream, a rosy at that the author of the dream becomes immune to the after effects of the known universe for the foreseeable future
in the doctrine of double effect.
hey you drunk! got vex likesay just what moment to let go that thought balloon before you're too high too avoid likesay heinous
fall? no fear! get some purple
i figure if i keep plugging away at this vodka and by this vodka i don't mean this vodka in particular but vodka as a dampner over a static lifetime, only good things can happen and by this i mean i shall drink to immunity
hail bastard, fucking hail!
adj. exemplimery state of affiars how one becomes dogger hounded
n fucking feral
the bested *thinks*: hmmmmm... that scritch i drilled looks sumptious... now i wonder... they say no regrets... a-a-and you are what you eat... no. no. no more what ifs. still
1) what to yell at a computer screen during those espescially trying times of server rejiggery
2) none-too-witty-but-nonetheless-very-relevant answer to exponents of the gender factuality thesis
the dying words of Alec Trvelyan to his friend James, at a facility somewhere over Siberia way, somewhere round there.
'Dying' a misnomer? No. Since giving sound to this clause Trevelyan becomes dead to James, and when he comes back at the park of crumbling stakhonovites
he is vitally scarred facewise, his inner turmoil is the big reveal
At the park Alec T. is in a place where he has had all Hull visisted upon him, alot, ok some of it anyway, all he could ever ask for.
Go ahead James, finish the Job, blow them all to Hull:
Literary masterchef screenwriter to bond, stews a reference to Ted Hughes, and all that spent quaint
Proper noun. colloq. entirely engrossing work of fiction to which one costanza
goods: busy week?
witch's familiar: costanza. Got some Hegel down.
goods: please do not text or email.
witch's familiar: Sound
iff 'if's the middle word in life,'
life without the f-word's a lie,
=>realise i'm an affront to language, a-shag me now.
poet warlord *surreptiously; cravenly eyes tub of marge*