Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

lmao @ all these pussies in reviews below moanin & gripin about the book being too hard, El Friede goes APESHIT on tha page and has u spitting out teeth when you go read it at 8am on way to work. i think the longest paragraph stretches across 8 pages, its nuts. hell yea its all over the place and Bless This Mess, sarcastic and sneery and just hte right amount of mess. peep:


Cell phone on, call out, horrors already prepared, packed, frozen, and discovered by two persons.

The fawn spilled out of the hind's burst stomach and lay next to it, it had to bepersonally killed by the driver with a stone, not a nice task, but what can one do in such a situation. No one, absolutely no one should suffer unneccarily, that's certain. Because it would only have suffered, the fawn, so we put it out of its misery, with one foot still almost in the hot monster that brought us to this spot and yet only wanted to gobble its gas at the next filling station, it wants to live, too, it's so nice and took so long to choose it.

Then the water can chew at the package for a bit or a bit longer, and see whether it likes the taste. It can open its jaws to draw breath, at the same time spitting out the human roll with the plastic cover, then snap at it again, or it can also keep the meat roll of course. Is it meat at all, or flesh?

While the bag of bones flies, it turns without grace a couple of times on its axis, a cumbersome comet, whose horned head, heavily burdened by the weights, points almost majestically in rapidly changing different directions, depending on the phase of the flight, and then lands on the road, the body, and is, for a moment at least, completely still. Quite unexpectedly Kurt Janisch's car was deprived of the momentum (M) which was necessary within the time (t) to lift the mass of the huge stag (m), a full-grown ten-pointer, for the killing of which the owner of the hunting ground up there had coughed up quite a sum, if the stag hadn't anyway had to cough its last, from ground level to the apex of its flight path (a), which was located behind the car as well as to propel the stag in the direction of travel.

Right now you're sitting in the mine cage at the bottom, and while up above the rubble is breaking away from the mountain and howling and raging the mud is coming to visit, you yourself are smashed to pieces down there, and no one will ever see you again. Someone should have taken care of it, the mountain, shielded it from human beings, instead it turned into a shield somewhat full of holes for them.