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	<title>Supreme being. &#187; robot exoskelton of cotton</title>
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		<title>Girding ourselves for battle.</title>
		<link>http://www.gigantoid.com/2009/03/girding-ourselves-for-battle/</link>
		<comments>http://www.gigantoid.com/2009/03/girding-ourselves-for-battle/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 08 Mar 2009 18:37:19 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>G.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[humanity]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[clean white tee]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[comfort]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[outside]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[robot exoskelton of cotton]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Ok. We’re going outside. outside outside. The big O. That means we shower! OK! Into the shower first take a wee bathroom break. Yes sir. Takin’ a dump. Feel lighter now, whoot. 
Correct tempachura? okey doke. 
outside. outside. undies on. nice and strict. clean white tea. it screams clean! outside that means we’re gonna need [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Ok. We’re going outside. outside outside. The big O. That means we shower! OK! Into the shower first take a wee bathroom break. Yes sir. Takin’ a dump. Feel lighter now, whoot. </p>
<p>Correct tempachura? okey doke. </p>
<p>outside. outside. undies on. nice and strict. clean white tea. it screams clean! outside that means we’re gonna need socks. sockseys 1 and 2. </p>
<p>Put on our socks. Ah, jeans soft and warm nothing better except  warm kittens. </p>
<p>That lovely pale blue that screams comfort. </p>
<p>Running shoes of course, you’ll never actually see me run. but it plays to the pretension that I’m athletic. yeah me. heh, Anyway they’re comfortable. </p>
<p>going outside. stand up, fitment check, strap ourselves into the pants. </p>
<p>my robot  exoskeleton of cotton.  ca chinkshhhh. seals tightening. holding fast.</p>
<p>mirror check, only look at the face pretend everything else is in soft focus.</p>
<p>oh shit gotta feed the cats, common’ you rascals, little kittums runs ahead and jumps on to the clothes machines, fucking fatty black one over here strolling ahead.</p>
<p>still cant stand him from when I had my dog. kept swattin’ that fat paw and his head. broke the blood vessels in his ears twice had them filled with blood. fuck you fatty. </p>
<p>now I gotta pick his fat ass up on to the top of the machines so he can eat. </p>
<p>getting older, this one. </p>
<p>fuck you there’s your food.</p>
<p>ok, what was I doing. going outside yeah. something.</p>
<p>ok need a top. this is dangerous territory now. my thoughts on the top will send my mood north or south now. this says to the world how am I feeling right now. confident, layed back, cool, smooth, at ease. or fat. </p>
<p>we’re not gonna think that.</p>
<p>soft focus.</p>
<p>we feel good.</p>
<p>shoulders up. our raiment will keep us safe. we own our mood.</p>
<p>need our things, our essentials. keys first. both sets car and home.</p>
<p>left pocket.</p>
<p>wallet. our mini safe. there you are.</p>
<p>right pocket has been installed.</p>
<p>my computer. cell phone. data device. portable music storage device. this is the order i’ve begun to think of my mobile phone in.</p>
<p>slide it into the special smaller pocket on the right. almost exactly like an invisible utility belt, it ride my leg.</p>
<p>my offensive spells and potions on the right. knowledge and what meager money I have.</p>
<p>safety and defense on the left.</p>
<p>brace ourselves at the door for ejection.</p>
<p>coldly electric feel of the knob. twitch to the right, pull. flip it to the left hand and –</p>
<p>out.</p>
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