Betwixt the "L" and ENTER

Seated in reverie beneath the glamour and glitz, the raconteur presses his adulation against the glass ceiling. Blue collar battled emblazoned, garnishing scars with shortsleeves rolled up for those betrothed with the white. Drawing Darwinian corollaries with broad-brush strokes, he struggles at the crux; concocting scenarios replete with well-trimmed excuses, the excess fat dribbles like a drip castle in the surf at low tide.

A thick sentence flavor seared like a Delmonico steak, smacking lips like Wily E. Coyote before Acme fucks him over, digest it fucker fore now its just a hobby. He can labor over syllables as a past time, cause he finds a respite in filleting a sentence and he spits out the gristle all over haters.

They sensed us, we the wreckage, breathing sullenly to our heartbeats with headphones on and backpacks loaded. The loaner tied Windsor knotted with the gray slacks pressed like a real Cuban sandwich.

My liter shows the difference between pleading the fifth and finishing it. Bleeding for a pint, he rises up late nights, quartering cross sections of existence; finding it fondling the teats of the corporate succubus and pressing forward to step up to the pulpit, he swings blindly, the Wiffle bat, at lifes hanging curve ball.

Simpler sentences please?

The masses acquiesce, belaying their scabs down to the sherpas so they can pick their sharpest scalpels. Theyve been paid to lead us towards the finish.

When work fucks with fun; hold work back with an arm bar so fun can take a cheap shot. Let fun rep the group we came from and state the list

three chords too score blind less faith in being successful on our own terms. driving juiced and telling the truth if and only when we get caught.

AND

When we go, we leave behind NOTHING

but an unflushed toilet and puke on the seat.