Union City Convention Center 1946

At the start of the workshop, all the dudes were a bunch of fucking peaches and underground rippers playing prison riot. His wife was leather soaked dispositionally and looming to get on with those dudes and was actually the inspiration for implementing blue and purple skin to undermine the very tenterhooks of all recorded philosophy. She waded and waddled pointing a plump donut finger with a sharpened nail in a slow alluring manner like a debutante picking furs and minks. Later, beat denizens like vultures swooned taking pictures of uptight audience members gawking at the pit of flesh as the cascade was laid on top of the facade of norms and means, and the inflated morality of the lazy and fearful. Getting kicks and getting kicked, the subjugation of temperance was in full ricocheted effect with no thought of the dying sun or the far off coming of winter as the last stand of the ego was to make the private public… all in the name of creating the urinal of truth.