NormScenes of maturity
The flowers are ludicrously lovely this time of year. Do go out into the fresh air and get a light waft of sweetly scented nostril steam into your relevant brain compartment. Maturity is all about speaking in an ever so refreshing lilt. I refrain from dirtying my tongue with the slightest hint of an obscenity. The obscene is a scene that I've seen and consider an eyesore. If your nostril cavity can bare it, won't you let the smell of freshly baked scones from the frying pan enter. They'll send the sweetest messages of joy and hope to the brain; your whole body will feel alive with the joys of nature. Computers are for the mature at heart and well-heeled travellers from prestigious universities enjoy the benefits of self-delusion. I had a dildo up my arse; sorry, that just slipped out. The freshly cut grass clippings in the shower plug hole remind one of the elastic fantasies of a youth staring to the high skies as the soft white fluffies pass through the same. Oh these joys of life send me into such fits of rapture the likes of which a litigious society can only sneer at. Freshly rotting carcasses adorn the pavement as the merest hint of perfumed breeze sings with the wealth of the sun's rays on a Summer morn. More's the pity that the carcasses can't appreciate the delights of being civilized and mature. I am content in my own. Form and content: opposite.
