paste! Ayockious Idderedd: Event of Champs

Keep your eyes on the abode, puppet guy.
Socks and socks and socks and socks
in a big foot fest. That is courageous.

Thus in the middle ages, a bison was considered
more-or-less, a trophy, a rose, and a mirror.
They had swords and armor, some made bread.

(The festivals in your arms are ultra-fly
to the whammy and i give you bulbs and rocks.
When there are sheets your breath is contagious.)

That damn log they dragged is bugged and crittered
like the rest of them. Very nice smear
that is, one by one, of gnats on the arm, now dead.

Stick a leg into the icy monument, now try
that again, into the cauldrons of famous stocks
conceived by a Russian chef, Kiefer Sutherland and Zeus.

Qualifying a mistake, he tucked in his shirt and entered.
There were pomegranate displays, dead reindeers with beer
and when the smoke cleared, he saw nothing but red.

The Organizer paused, and committed himself to the awry
nature of his habitat. The parade muffed around like lox
in the hands of a nervous hunter spotting a moose

and feeling his rifle stuck up his ass, off-centered.
Everyone that was alive that day, grabbed necks to steer
themselves back into the abyss, and, for sure, to save tread.
what's it to you?
who go