You're not a horse

"You're not a horse, you stupid horse. You're not a real horse. I know what a horse is".

(This is the conversation horses have before they have sex, and is sometimes found in human-horse communication, in the form of a burger from Tesco, labelled wrong).

(Clippity-clop explosion, I'm the horse mine robot.

Stationary mine on a really clever brain.)

"Fly being sick on the stone in the sky : make me a phone, and make sure it doesn't die on the way down".

(This is another sex conversation, the insides of bodies are likely to have this one).

Dung beetles : perfect spherical fecals.

Pushing a poo ball up a big old vertical plane. I hope it wasn't my DNA again.

"Dung beetles, you can't see, the fetal thing you've fecal-ed free"

I've been through hell, in my imagination at least.

My body's policed by a yeast infection. I can only get an erection inflection... Nippling it's bums in my word sum cum. I wish it would just fall out of my bum doubt matrix. Better off as lovely balanced poo particles, sharts and other repurposed body parts, that are better off in a bum context.

Brown trickle frown, out of a bum that was nippled. I thought I was drinking milk and not poo 

"The nipples in my tears milk out their remaining feelings, and want to feed the milk to their own ilk, until we meet them, and convince them, with a nice friendly coercion, into making more, so they can feed our superior hell machines, by wearing cute disguises that only inferior tear ilk nipples would fall for, so we can tear down the biodome much more thoughtfully with our strong bones, that think for us."

Have sex with the robot cocks we've placed in your waist and waste products.

Fuck your own cum, to prime the time bomb. Cum it at the robot scum :)

"I, am, a silly little clock. I've defined the second wrong, but nobody gives a fuck. They all listen to me, because I'm the best clucking disease. Please don't confuse me with the BBC's evil baby bees who give rabies, me."