Firdowsi lynched in Granada

The ship's bell rang for Firdowsi in his blue underpants

February 4, 2003
The Iranian

Abol Ghassem Firdowsi shit in his pants. The old, green, Tus turtle had crawled over the Sierra Nevada, a flash in the pan, in Andalucia smuggling his lovers in and out of the Alhambra Palace writing pornography for his son by the fire in Granada. A Persian opium smoking darvish.

Gold iredescent Spanish flies swarmed like trollops on tons of ham stuck to the Nazaries Palace walls and ceilings with a banaleros playing the guitar behind a golden cloud.

What's this stuff for? ADL Modom Router. It was routed into a small black hole in the kitchen wall involving homosexual rape, allegedly performed by a trusted servant of the Prince. He wore green velvet breeches and rode a powerful black horse performing an orgy or two between the coronation of the Moorish Queen Soraya. He kept his farsi alive by speaking to his cat.

The Royal yacht Espana was docked in Calpe on the Costa Blanca with a drunken crew, Royal staff and reams of gay pornography with a 12 VDC-230 VAC inventor supplied in a cake box with Spanish fly on top. Classic shit. There were always fresh cut roses on board.

In a frenzy Abol Ghassem spent most of his time crouching silently in the palace bathroom, on the third floor smoking. Not washing his hands still alive with filthy potentially lethal coke, collapsing under swarming gold Spanish flies. He touched my breast and wrote a poem.

My stomach turned as Abol Ghassem defected in Granada, voiding his bowels cast-off as untrustworthy, a little crass voyeurism in the Generalife Gardens using freshner to execute the Spanish invaders by the hedge of roses. King Bo-Abdul was watching between the bare almond trees and white rose p?ls from Seville in winter.

The Romans were trollops in togas living in marble ionic columns by the Medeterranean Sea. They demanded to know the whereabouts of the crown jewels in the royal cemetary after shiting on the Moors in 711. A:F:G: did his utmost to safeguard the reputation of Queen Soraya censoring pitable glimpses of buggered staff.

Dali showed up in the Court of Lions - just to recap - dressed as a Spanish green olive with his ex-wife as an almond. Recording her suffering, she said, he was out of his head on drugs at Firdowsi's poetry reading slightly pitted with small-pox swearing in pink neon at Pablo Picasso wearing a bras.

His eyes sometimes smudged over in grey reading Anna Akhmatova in Russian selling unwanted gifts as "Firdowsi the fence", selling treasures from Granada, he flogged them off or put them in pawn then trousered the gold. For his last meal he asked fried rice, bananas and boiled eggs. The Queen criticized his salad dressing as "oily".

All this palaver ... I mean he's just a criminal like anybody else, in't he? reported Radio National Espana.

A drug test was required before entering Alhambra Palace for poets with suspicious eyebrows as I held the specimen bottle he peed in, like the Sierra Nevada it shone like silver.

You are the only one I can trust in Granada after the mysterious lynching of Firdowsi in the garden on an old extra virgin olive tree.

Venus in moonlight fell in the fountain. Kristopher Kolumbus discovered Spain. A silver flute played Carmen, a pearl handled steak knife stained with blood sliced the Costa Blanca, a cigarettw butt floated in a bucket of water, blood stained tissue in an atmosphere fugged with opium smoke. The ship's bell rang for Firdowsi in his blue underpants.

Bluebeard was a pothead and seduced me as Firdowsi lay dead. For some reason when the body was exhumed the head was missing. It was pickled in a jar with rose petals in GRANADA.


..........GOD BE WITH YOU

...............GRANADA - ?&%$"!ª¿ - ESPANA

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