Okay, let's design a new type of clothing: mosques. Rip 'em on apart so their skins can stretch over a framework and form true, angelic mosque beings, soaring above, fluttering in the winds. I built a moat the other day. See, here's a good example. I built a goddamn moat the other day. See? I built it using my hands and my pelvis. I starched up my pelvis real solid and went crawling up the side of the building, and sooner or later a moat had formed. So I think yer sorta gettin' what I'm gettin' at, yeh? Well, let's get down to the meat of the issue: I am so meaty. The meat clings to my bones like wet starchy debris from an old carpenter's rough hands; I finally submerge my body in nearby liquid, letting the cool rush overtake my flesh and guide me here and there, up and down, all around. I feel the cool, squishy, beefy liquid wrapping around all of my limbs, shaking the chunks free and making me whole again. I realized something real nice 'n' important: "I'm gonna start writing rap songs about truffles." My momma always told me that if I roughed up my bones real hard I would get me a nice companion to coat my skin in blood and meat and oil, but I've found myself in love with only the dirt beneath my hard, bitter feet and my satin shoelaces. Speaking of laces, my teeth are laced with granite.
Tram. Tramulator. I can build tramulators with my oxygenated flesh if I want to. It's true. Once I became congested, so I boiled up a concoction of fat granite and boiled my face with it, and before I knew it my face was completely burnt and my congestion had vanished.
And that, my harrowing elder, harrowing beneath me, is all I have for you right now.
