Gather 'round, hunters, gatherers, cowpokes, jamokes and hard cases. It's time for ya'll to listen to me moan. I moan audible. Not loud. You can hear me doing it. That's what matters. What moves mind and body from material to supernatural sensations. Faith holds congress with belief in sensuality.
I moan for the death of common pool halls. I sure as fuck don't have an eight foot slate billiard table here in my own private East Buttfuck. There ain't no pool halls left open for business in this sorry miserable place not deserving of it's pompous jackass-sounding name. I'm not naming where this violent pestilential behavior is spreading gloom and collective torpor. But there's no chance or operating a pool hall in this district, and most other districts, without assholes shooting someone over a squabble.
People aren't playing pool, I'm not playing pool, and this is only one of the most far away reasons Poorly Rotating Earth is going to shit.
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