she said there's an ordnance i said yeah it's in your head it's issuing from your mouth i don't like it, ordnance, it hurts but i said all this later after we cursed each other and parted ways forever in my head.

there is that dark con trail remaining, like the black bilious rope issuing from the beige yapper's yapping mouth while the dog has ceased after a couple yips and we are enroute to the island, but it is grown faint and might even add a little interest though you know we can do very well without thank you. i notice when really nasty yappers curse they usually have a dark cord of puritanicality so they say up yours instead of the preferred and more musical fuck you. 
this has to do with freedom and they hate those of us who love it enough to break with ordnance for the sake of our dogs and ourselves. they hate our freedom. idiots, wretched, wretched fools.