it was but a sudden burst of laughter that turned into an airdrop hanging in its full toxicity in this new land where the average honest individual fea from walking down the nearest pull outlooking on the claws of the Dirty AMM Gorge right next to the Plebridge of blasphemous tolls. one certain Rip van Ruggle, who with a locomotive breath of angst, despair and illiquid temper tried to take down the entire atmosphere of a small world along with himself into the unobservable universe of utter silence. in order to pull thig rug, he had to bow before a unicorn. being subdued in appearance to the mythical critter yet of native fauna endemic to this world, he would be able to prove that he was indeed not the whale the entire mob was stalking. day and night. block by block. searcher by proposer. at this moment, a jealous male unicorn happened to pop off Ruggle's rare bespoke denim pants. since that day, a sinful amount of thin air money is airdropped to reply guys in existence.
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evening. sitting exactly where i had my first epiphany regarding a dragon and a future full of humans cosplaying as clogs in the shade of a great mama tree. no leaves. one can lever himself, or herself right under that tree if they had a portable projector and could watch the wicker man from the beginning to an end. pine? i don't think so as no nuclear-powered aircrafts tried to bomb the hell out of it thinking it was a giant spiky probe fisting into the tiny heavens of dusky hangovers. the epiphany was about having an epiphany apropos of nothing. imagine this person trying to rant the hell out of their chest into an opening called a world on which megastructures house gigabrains in fully automated organizations doing it better than the average human-being, and their society. now, process that imagination into a decision making process. he think, and he acts: he casts he touched the grass to impress her and her friends.
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