Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Dribble on, dribbler

Dribbling.
Sputter. Hoick. Gag. Spasticity and contortion. Muscle relaxant. Thanking the Lord.
Oh to dribble, our waveguide, our gyrotron.

Don't lose your job, oh New Zealand citizen, oh lord no. You may just end up having to deal drugs to Australian teenagers or prostitute yourself to Australian baby-boomers. Don't forget to tranfer your super too - else the Super fund gets it all back in fees. You can only tranfer it into Kiwisaver. No kiwi can access their Super early unless theyve been on Centrelink for a long time. Which you cannot do, so you can't. 
Just keep working and paying your tax. And shut up or go home.
Oh yes, go home. Lets all go home. Then the Australians will have to actually work. Which they don't generally like doing. So we can't do that. Better stay here and fatten up the Australian governments coffers and get ripped off by the countless fatted, clumsy, expectorant-loaded ozzie scum-bag rip-off utility schemes abounding here there and everywhere.
Oh coil-up and blow-thy-load.
And don't bruise thy lenticular vesicle.
Blob on and blob off the hokey pokey.
Sickle-cell glad-bag flipper-scmaltz.
Finger whetting.
Vetting and recruitment guild, promissory meninges.
Calculated to suckle.

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