I'm beginning to worry about you.
You ended your second last message looking forward to the next issue. Seemed innocent enough... until you began your last message with imagery of me badgering the witness (the witness is called boner btw... which rhymes with stoner). Now I understand what you mean by "issue" >> to flow forth!! Eewwww!
And here you are, actively trying to lure me away from the bright lights of main street... no doubt so you can pursue your "issues" in the "back alley" (Flamers Paradise indeed!). I'm appalled... but somehow strangely excited.
Mock the cherry wind
if you like... invite bad luck. I for one yearn for "time to spare from my work, and good weather" for it frees the mind and allows the body to soar. You on the other hand cite excuses to keep yourself planted in the sheltered lee of your crowded, tiny fucked up piece O' crap no wind spot out back'o'nowhere. I'll say it again, "it's your call". The cherry wind will only lead you to more painful encounters. Remember, there's nice person SS reps out there.
Luckily for you, a familiar face has come to your rescue. RickI, Hung and Tom183 were out kiting when the gee!
-man came knocking on doors. He was looking for the next best safety hype representative. By a strange twist of lemon in a half empty glass of gin, next to a full ashtray, in the baleful glow of a cathode ray tube, stooped the cat that didn't give a flying fuck. Fokiten was home (but the lights were out). Like Dax's stiff cock, fokiten was pulled into the gee!
-man's greedy grasp by his well worn catch cry; "Do you wanna *FREE KITE*?". Fokiten was a pushover... in fact, he was violently bent over backwards by the force of his own anti-hype mojo recoiling against the latent hype seeping from the sonorous salesman. As the gee!
-man handed over his silvern lure, his tone changed. In a sinister voice he said, "Welcome to the farked ride. You'll speak for us now."
P.S. I no longer have a personal interest in your "exploding issues" (I know what you mean now
). If it happens again and you feel guilty afterwards, it's probably because your hot glue gun couldn't shoot a heavy load at that spongey wobblefish. Go cry on your upholsterer's shoulder.