Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    
ding.  "Halloooo!" cried the nun again.  The Halliburton hatchet men
a-
  

    
ssumed that making an as-
  

    
sumption that these assholes' aspirations can be ascertained is as-
  

    
likely-as-not the fundamental operating principle of the ad-
  

    
joining Aikido Academy. Otherwise, why would the sign say, "We assume t-
  

    
ooth de-
  

    
cadence" in front of the Arlington House of Appleless Candy-Covered
App-
  

    
lications developed for cray multiprocessors which fold sixteen ways
to be more portable than the old legacy PCs they had back in the
twenty-first century.  Some still re-
  

    
wrinkle time as we narrate the proximity of the verisimilitude to
real-
  

    
time audio processing that simulates the spaces where music ne-
  

    
ver minds no matter but floats in vibrating wa-
  

    
llpaper with dizzying spiral fl- 
  

    
atulent loops of aromatic abun-
  

    
dance (if you like that sort of thing), ex-
  

    
cellent for those who remember Charlie's Fish Odor Restaurant (located
in Houston and Dallas) back in the early 1980s, where you could go and
choose from over 400 kinds of fish od-
  

    
dities, such as electric eels with Christmas lights and plug-in el-
  

    
ephants named Dub-
  

    
dub.  I remember Charlie.  He always liked his girls young--not me
though. Oh yes, re-
  

    
turning to an old 8" X 10" sheet of concentrated calamari odor, which
you could buy for $24.99 twenty-five yea-
  

    

rning ocelots following behind in eager anticipation.

But we digress. After all, the thing about aromatics is the str-
  

    
iking resemblence to manifest de-
  

    
frenistration, discombultation, and loco-
  

    
weed inhal-
  

    
ation denial.  A strong approach to turn-
  

    
about being fair play when all is said and d-