The Rat in the Cat The Cat ate trash Swallowed singers, dingers, and ping-pong ringers. All in low-cut sell-out dresses of apple core porn and foreign hip-hop goodies. A long with some pudding footies, pie-cake hoodies, and Joan Rivers' loogies! And then a mischievious rat with no-good fat in one good cancer inducing minute flat! I wrote this with no inspiration. Just spite. For God knows what reason. I can do anything because I am Dr. Pseudo. And my world is fantastic with plenty of colors, even one's you've never seen before. Am I high? Are you mad!? I don't do drugs, I AM drugs! (Brush up on your Salvador Dali for that one, if you would. And no, maybe it's not verbatim. Verbatim? I hate-em! Not really, just the mind polluted reproduction phrases) In all my falsehood existence, I've decided, I would, however, mention my pieces in work. The story I've made mention of on here that I was writing hasn't been worked on in a month, at the least. I still have it, I'm just not rushing production because I'm on no time limit, and I want things to come as I feel them for right now. So to anyone whoever wants to read the untitled work, it'll be here one day. A similar story goes for my blogspot writing about vegetarianism. I've felt no inspiration to write in it since the day I've started, but it'll also be completed sometime, because I still want it written, along with several other cliffhanger pieces in my mind. I suppose that's all for now, Kiddies. And to the pseudo-analysists: In the meantime, your lyrical-imitation station of creativity control invasion can remain the undying flame of your abuse hotline and soul diminishing, bastardizing, thirst quenching escape from all the problems that you can't slap in the face on a rainy day, screaming in the opposite direction of purpose and enlightenment. But it's okay. Social Pseudowinism says only the disillusioned come out on top. And my Mount Foreverist frozen lips crack apart to speak of the rainbow of unseen colors, as dead fish begin to stink in the rivers of yesterday's bland sunset. Does that mean, then, that good things rise my way? Yes, because the insipid dew is too molded to care about the good things. And as the color goes blank, I say goodbye for now, on this white background. So yes, goodbye for now. -Time is Melting When Inspirationless Mock the Inspirationalness Do You Catch The Irony Here?