I am fucking struck by deep fucking convictions - Fucking intrigued by fucking souls with a single mother fucking purpose; obsessive, but fucking effective, addictions, fuck. Fucking Stunned as if fucking punched On the fucking bridge of my mother fucking nose; Fucking forefinger thrust through one fucking eye, She-it in the other, a fucking thumb. Fucking wrenched fuckin toward their awareness, they fucking spit into my ear? Motherfuckers?! “See, this is how it’s fuckin done.” It’s fucking almost too much fucking for me. They fucking burn themselves so fuckin brightly; their fuckin light can be seen for a hundred motherfuckin years & yeah, that's a lot of fuckin years. For you'se that don't fucking know. I saw it first in Fucking Nietzsche, then in when and if I was fucking Van Gogh. All fucked wick, and no fucked candle - more like a fucked fusion of uninspiring butterflys fucking off dead into my window, fuck; as if inspired by a mother fucking shackled, and fuck tortured fuck tortured fuck dipped burnt fuck dipped muse.? Must everything fucking else fuck? be fuckin starved to feed this deformed, fuck, but beautiful, fucking undergrowth? Fuck no. DIRTY POO! And filthy manured fucking fuck mouths. Did I mention wickless and no fuse? I fucking hope so. Motherfuckers. You knew he would either go fucking mad, or fucking surpass you all. But you should have known he'd do both. And turn into the FUCKLING? Flee! Flee! Flee the Fuckling! lol. Just fucking around. Maybe.