Th’ Poeta of Hi’ ‘nvisible Smoke: Part 3.
—because several outsized squads of assorted experts in the art of the articulation possibilities of the typical human limb—testified, at the request of Big Law itselves, that she could not have chopped up her nose root herself, with anything approaching the force required to induce death. This was proven by the creation of charts, graphs, pictures, animations, puppet shows, recreations, simulations of all conceivable measures and means, with the topper being a three-day holographic re-creation of all events, involving all people, on all dates, from the initial unwrapping of the jazz horn, to the upthrust nasal cartelization deaths of himself and herself, and her huck, huck, huck—so, over a bed of hot lava flaming bundles of superheated sticks brake for clinkering-coo exactly bundles of white sticks so so s’, Hans, simply because reading this story and also, then, listening over and over to Nanzee Gray’s hip-roaring and hooray scream the crime down hoedown show, holy Moses; drop the damned thing. Pawn it, or something, to somehow get something for it, to ease the letdown of your thousands of wasted hours, Hans. Now Hans, let’s get real. Hans, did you really think you had musical talent? Did you really think you could excel in guitar music when your tin ear would never let you tune it correctly? Did you really think that when your parents, aunts, uncles, and otherwise elses selves, ‘round all so-so, would say, Yo, so; great Hans. You so great, Hans. You see that, Madgie-my matter and everybody’s else? Look at his hands; they move like spiders; spiders and snakes and all these resemblancing, writhing what-have-yous of the familiatational kind, and, atop of it all, of the blood yes, the blood yes. The blood. Of course, they’ve all lied all of them lied because they were ignorant bluop bloup bloop bloop bluip bloope bluop bloup flaming bundles of superheated sticks brake for bloopi bloopee bluipoir bup lou loop Clinkering-coo exactly bundles of white sticks blo bui loo unimportant Thinking themselves kind, they encouraged your folly. Thinking themselves helpful, they caused you to waste hundreds of hours. And so, Hans, yes, I think these automatic rifles you’ve spread out ‘cross your truck bed for my inspection, well, yes, you were right to buy them. And, the plan you’ve outlined for tomorrow’s family picnic is a fine one, Hans. But, that aside. What’s much more intense and thus much more important was, that then oh my then there came a burial pending in Poeta at the city of the dead. A tentlike structure of green canvas stood erected by the grave. But then. bup blu loo bop over a bed of hot lava blip blop lup lop lp bluo blou bundles of white sticks luop loup oop op p pe boo blu blo blo flaming bundles of superheated sticks rak for bloop bluip bluop loup oop op Clinkering-coo Exactly! bluip loope uop up bluop blou blo unimportant And then they put their arm up again A pile of deep brown soil lay neatly piled by the gravesides. But then Oh my then. Folding chairs. But then oh my then there came. Three of four wide squat burial workers. But then oh my then there came a burial pending. Half the workers were empty handed in coveralls. But then oh my then there came a burial pending in Poeta at. But then oh my then there came a burial pending in Poeta at the city. Hic. But then oh my then there came a burial pending in Poeta at the city of. Hic hic. The giant yellow backhoe set to the side is not simply a coincidence. This rendered the rest of the ride up that direction disturbing. Hic hic hic. bluop blo bl b bp ope Exactly p up oop loop bluip blpe blu bp pop uip loope brake for p up oop loop bluip bloope Bluop blp bp Hot lava oo lui loop bluop loup op p ip loope over a bed of The city of the dead. Knowing Poeta would never be seen the same way again rendered the remainder of the up-ride disturbing and the same went for the later down-ride to the end. A burial’s pending in Poeta at the city of the dead. At the city of the dead. At the city of the dead. B we said we said bluop blp bp b ip b bl blo bloo bluip Bundles of white sticks bloope bluo blo b bluop blou blo bl flaming bundles of superheated sticks passed the burial pending in Poeta at the city of the dead. Hic. bl bloo bluop bluop blou blo bl b bl blu unimportant But again it is b bl blo blu bloo bluop at the city b bl blo bloo blui bloope of the dead hic hic Clinkering-coo bluop blou bloo bl b 156 times 2 ways exit 148 78 times north of the city of the dead.
Hic hic hic!
Unimportant. Hic hic. And then they put their arm up again. Hic. Over a bed of. Hot lava. Flaming bundles of superheated sticks. Brake for. Clinkering-coo. Exactly! Bundles of white sticks. bluop bloup bloop bloop bluip bloope unimportant bloup bloop bloop bluip unimportant bloup bloop bloop unimportant bloup bloop absolutely unimportant bloup totally unimportant undeniably unimportant really unimportant inviolately unimportant—but, anyway. What the hell kind of a meat loaf is this?