[THE STORY THUSFAR: Interestingly, without his usual rancor, about redundant cycles, he noticed an emerging pustule oozing from the center of its well formed buttock, which lacked a companion due to being winded after sucking in too much cream from the middle of a Twinkie, yet could still be felt like a phantom limb, yearning to be re-united with its cruelly sundered twin, whilst, ironically also enjoying not being parted, as if being parted were only half a buttock’s quest, the other being unable to shatter the ribbon at the finishline unlike a pock-marked 100m runner with bunched shoulders and a steroidal smile, pushing pushing and pushing again, but never creating a movement, except for making like a fetus and heading out until hoisted high, tremulous in the cold antiseptic breeze, awaiting the descent of the doctor’s hand; silent, blue and brisk against the aforementioned oddly isolated muscle mass, leading to the thought that the oozing pustule was in fact alive, hungry for the glistening, exhausted mother, whom, half-assed though she was, nonetheless wholesomely presented her ideas on foreign policy, such as having bibi nuke iran unlike the midwife, who, outraged by the mother’s outburst, drained the birthing tub and threw out the]
Please continue with the thread, I was curious if there may be a conclusion to this sentence (or if it even needs one). I’m not against tea and biscuits, but not to discuss the demise of this OP.