(Selected 80s movie one-liners from a kind of script I’m writing with William Forsythe’s Out for Justice character in mind. Freebase nuptials between him, his beloved, and the now antagonized Segal.)
We purr so witch beneath the ice. Who else coos this radioactively big? My parasites are under construction.
I want to sum you up with a bowtie. Advice so profitable my lover’s tears won’t stay herpetic in their holster.
This piece of shit keeps orgasming in his tourniquet. He leaves his garden hose on on the sidewalk. This motherfucker dribbles snow. He bothers alarm clocks, but I’m the bastard woke up screaming. I promise those kempt free of crime never sate. Never deal with their veneer. Couldn’t breech the object as it destroys you for the best. No hero’s ever swapped their merchandise for heart. Declare that shit a thump without cliché. Think he elates his pets wealthier than their bowl? Spiffy about life? A bit of thwarted glory nine to five? Which fucking juice box did you administer?
You one of the tawnier chicklets I collect today? Offer me fat discourse concerning your almighty self? The public won’t extend your credit from a sandwich bag.
Welcome to the rest of your keloid! I will jot your family into their pizza. Molest the fucking blacksmith that forged your badge. I can tell it’s someone’s favorite bladder.
I bet even your psychologist calls you bulletproof. The fancier the tattletale the more it’s everyone.
You know that overall existence feeling? We’re kind of sitting ducks in stereo, like homo sapiens mistakenly evolved a consciousness, the squish-pattern echo of big bang, onward from stasis, our synapses just disguised, itinerant star guano death rattling? We have a great talent for carrying ourselves from magic to fertilizer. I’m all about our full potential as fertilizer, but that’s too optimistic.
You’re worse off than the cross around your neck.
I only kiss a son of a bitch to place them underground. At least your product’s sweet. Shit’s the pinnacle. It supposed to reissue belly buttons this hard?
Ever feel vulnerable under tanning lights?
Can’t step backward through your diarrhea without leaving prints.
Gotta audition for your flatline, boy. He’s performed a misdemeanor in the sauna. Everyone dies far too endured.
We gonna honeymoon in our carrion
Bet you could spit shine a T-Rex. I fuck like the globe’s solution. You of a mind? I’m done tripping over hello. Perhaps I could dunk myself in you like a tactful guest? May we disregard a chromosome or two?
The sun got mislaid, contracted the blueprints for a spark. It was pregnant with me, back when pregnancy was a thing. You had to close your eyes to reach gravity. There is no lucent doing I concur with. No such glow. Unless my scars twinkle when I screw.