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Sisters, chicken hawks, baskets, women would later replace every noun in that fully impenetrable maze of all-purpose, exonerating admittance, deniable abrogation, deceptive pre-meditation, purposefully provocative, obfuscating avoidance, desirably inspired, desperately cool and calculating; his leer invested with a sneer - its sardonic omission unspecific, indecipherable of difference between a basket which became a chicken hawk, and a .357 magnum which stayed that way; between no witnesses, or twenty; between impulsivity and compulsivity, self-satisfaction and self-sabatoge - fully backed by an infinitely sustainable library of truths, slanders, pretensions, diminutions, cerebrally deficient self-justifications, or outright 'fuck yous,' by starving, uncareful, extra-normal lies ('getting away with murder'), irrelevant, unnecessary, unaware truth replacement, self-shocking, half-victim, half-witness - first, incurring entirely too much force majeur, any reaction besides laughter, second, and by the one-hundredth telling, six-degrees of separation out, an iconic Lewis-sized, meanass fable of virility, vitality, and pre-Twitter virality, whose impact, undiminished by its lack of immediacy and sharply defined contemporaneity, love/hate relationship with truth/falsehood, had grown from a Wikipedia-like self-editing, self-redacting, re-editing process, whose product, while never perfect to all, but always perfectly pitched, transformed into a tawny bruisable wine whose retelling conferred unverifiable, psychological self-aggrandizement on its teller, while reinforcing disbelief in its amused cynics...
Compared to previous month This instant incredulity and skepticism for his next 'unfunny' fuck-up to kiss up, shut up, or pay up, backed the same dis-reputational, unreliable, superabundant, cycling doubt its unspoken steel used with its dirty ambiguity...