The Surrealist / Stream of Thought writing Thread

But heareth me ender, son of the loneliest star, treader of path's once cornholed, for I am the king of the mountain, and decider of genritity.
 
When I wake up from all of this, there will surely be a giant avocado on my face. And when I push it away, all the avocados of the world will feel my scorn.
 
We are the Messenger from beyond.
We bring to your world galactic tidings.
Your departure is nigh.
 
Stunned by this news, I pick up my noodle turncoat and flee in horror from the messenger's omniscient scientific bastion. Hark! I hear these angels sing and thrash around in glorious highway devotion.
 
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In other words, I should have had a V8.