Chiselmunk: Revelling in the virtuoso factor. Now that’s a cat with a plan.

Chiselmunk: Stern in the face of fellatio. Pipping ripsnorters from the vertical slit.

Chiselmunk: The dormant skank, purulent and pungent.

Chiselmunk: Veins of amphibian, schooled in breathing Pisces from the leftovers. Cognisant sweat, breach of thrust among the younger loafers. Crash among the blow job crowd, hanky pancake shocked on acid.

Chiselmunk: Stripping apartheid nappies faster than they can be replaced. Fertility cymbal, drumming stud pudding into the pestle.

Chiselmunk: Daughterless among a crowd of facialsexuals. Rotund option outs the pickle clown, the bone free master of wart paint. Glorified temple brewer taking spillage of the elderly and making dream gold.

Chiselmunk: Petrified in a stream of hallucination, assailed by tyres from the old school privilege. Now doing tight kwon do, the latest marital art sensation.

This is Chiselmunk. He is I is you is me. Balling bores with no hands attached—crapeé diem thankyou very much. He rolls the car pets into handle-free beggars, ropes metal shells of cast iron bonbonniere. Free him! Cry the whistleblowers while they’re busy blowing their horns.

Chiselmunk: Grope me! Before I die give me an excavation and then leave me be to my flatulence.

Chiselmunk: Drunk as a skunk on a skunk-baked pie of the freshest skunk. He’s calling me is you is I. Make a man-friend with your womanly charms, and don’t let it brassiere your thinking.

Then: Cast away canapé. Deflate. Peruse yourself. Exfoliate.

Chiselmunk: is watching.