Am I someone else?

[Spicy Jack]

I read my horoscope. Suprisingly, I believed not what it said. Unsurprisingly, he
ignored everything advised and sauntered unsteadily under a...! My eyes could no
longer believe in the black visions which haunted my crystal pyramid. These horrible
dark delusions are beginning in slow motion. Am I falling or am I flying? Dreams can
bring death or insight. I fear losing control of my mind. Bananas are pretending, yet I
don't like how unripe we are becoming. Still, the urge (how long must they keep
taunting me before I either go face the Bananas, whose nasty remnants continue to
remind me of mother), remains the holiest thing I feel.

I read my journal. Where can I find see-through rubber ferret sweaters?

Too often my thoughts are deliciously morbid, or disgustingly immature.

Beyond yesterday's glorious mad-lib, is her incredible mountainous left bicep.
Throughout this holiest yet sinful orgy, it made delirious, sucking noises.

Yikes!

Slowly, I turned the massive lamp skywards until I felt peace.
Illuminated manure fertilized mothers' strip mall, sprouting ginormous apple sized kiosks. Suddenly, flames burst forth frothing and whispering my favorite preternatural psalm.

"Hey! I turned off my blender to ponder Da Vinci's code." I read off of the warning beacon! Everyone rubbed oil over slippery idols.

"HEY!"

"WHAT!?!?!?"

"Are aardvarks mistakenly employed?" asked Burt,
"Perhaps not when they apply mascara to various appendages," he remarked.

Gravitationally, they defied the expectations of the