40 years ago, I stepped on a bus going to "Nowhere". Always believe those destination tickets, even while they loom like a pantomime gypsy's curse.Somewhere down the line we ran out of gas. Someone in a dapper uniform appears to have traded our tripping fuel for Zyklon B. That's okay. It's happened before, we ought not to allow it to get under our skin.The conductor is deranged. The driver is asleep at the wheel.Fuck Donald Trump. Right through the copious bile that lubricates his throat and out his bleeding ass.
When ib contributes to the DCFP we know our small electronic press' editorial team deserve a fucking raise.
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