Zootrophic Funerary Nightmare

i suppose this is the moment to explain my crimes...the things that drift around in my mind like sticks on a pond or cigarette buts on a movie theatre carpet. first of all, there was no sweet deal to whip up a bunch of deviled eggs, it was all a lie. another issue perhaps is the fact that i had no intention of giving you a back massage. there isn't really any such thing as a platonic back massage, is there? this is the reason that massage artists nearly always fantasize about killing their clients. did i mention that i am a friend of termites? an enemy of cleanliness? a threat to balloons? a reason not to get another hot dog? it is enough that i have lived my life secretly counting the joker cards in blackjack decks, noting the number of ways a person can arrive at the conclusion that there is no life and death, only a series of moments connected together by narrative, that it does not pay to keep halloween candy all year long, that once in a while it is interesting to contemplate exactly how ready one's self is to commit all manner of strange acts.