Notes from the mood manufacturing plant...
It is Friday here at the mood manufacturing plant, and all whistles are singing your praises in an emotive appeal. The ventilators are venting all moods colored red. The transducers moving them straight from the head. Come see our blue room for a good cry. An assembly line of grief counselors reconstructing the tears. We fill up the clouds and send them up and away. To irrigate your dried out and rational demeanor. If we mix the reds and the blues, for a slightly larger sum, we can brew up a real nasty storm - and then some. Manufacture some drama, it certainly won't be the norm. What would you like? Some celebrated success? A moulten euphoria? Your pride, undressed? A smoking hot aura? See here! We canned vulnerability in brine. The saline of premium salts off the vine. Wholesale we offer three episodic moments to the penny. All those memories could be refreshed, like old songs in your ears. It costs almost nothing, come now, reduce yourself to tears.
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