or, i’m piddling as fast as i can
The facility with which the seriosity is glossed over is stupefying in
its grandiose fatuosity. So glib as to be unashamed even before
the purity of a modest page unstained; “More Witlessness, if it
please The Court.” Tossed about as if threshing mots, though
there is only chaff, the hollow hulls of a cheap laugh blown away
in the humorless wind broken against the gales of the unmirthful.
Be it hereby resolved, May they ever krink their noses at the
quipster’s hike of haunch, whereby the complacent and smug are
made to smell the reek of their own asshumings.
poetastrophy 