La Santa Maria Gracias

   
   "La Santa Maria Gracias"
   
   Bovine anti-brothers are like a mouse trap's sticky stuff, adhering with sophisticated synergy.  Jesus, she says--don't speak against riches--they'll kill you.  Love ya Mom.  Portly eating disorders, swallowing aggression.  Sean Hannity is not your adversary--it's called:  COMPLEX CARBOHYDRATES.   Make a funnel cake.  Plenty of frosting boss.  He totally and sincerely had four beers Sheriff.  
   Nope, Deputy Dawg; they did a blood-test, ya milkweed.  Wake up and smell the Folgers.        
   It's called an eating disorder.  Me:  Groin Injury.  God forbid she has toe-jam.  I'll knock your teeth out boy.  Don't mess with an old man and his gun.  You're outta the house--threats.  Anxiety.  Your father hates you.  Let's drop him on his head as a baby, and punch him in the face.  Jesus loves you.
   Whale-like women of wonder-lust wandering Wendigo.  They're cannibals Jerry!!!  I should've moved to Canada and joined ALPHA FLIGHT; next, met the Shaman and Puck and Vindicator.  Hell boy, Wolverine did it.  
   Porcine poop.  How can you insert that into cottage cheese.  Jesus loves you.
   Anyway, yup, Martin Luther had an Oedipus Complex.  Had bowel issues and a superfluosity; moreover, wore the checkerboard game of dungeons and dragons; plus, loved the Virgin Mary just a little too much.
   Way to code it Pynchon, Faulkner, Jesus.  Keep them parables flowing.  Riddle me this; riddle me that.  @ the nuthouse, I like the unjust snacks.  First Amendment Babe.  It belongs to the poor man; as a result, God Bless America.