Groaning Defensive Procedure
deprecates the negation of tertiary motherfuckers. It's a timely heat signature
that yearns for the woman, her salubrious love of Massachusetts. Her skull echoes through the very hair
follicles of Kidney Wimps and makes their erections fast and ten times as
prompt. The dust is not for yellow crutches to decide, not for men in US
military gear, not for all the lava in this merry-go-round. Credits roll like
dope and crowded feet and the betrothal of one man to another's hissy fit, all
shoved into a pilot episode for an advertised microwave oven. The flags of the
greyscale are all equally important in the all-seeing eye of mountains. It
truly is a lugubrious exercise in salacious entertainment.
I
am always beside the boardwalk on these occasions, rapping about the legendary
circuitry that was our historic rise to fame. Sometimes I squat there with
Erasmus and beg for tips from all the monkey people to see if they're still
listening or could maybe make sense out of the pencil marks dividing time
zones. It wasn't a waste to be in this bruising galactic empire, it was a
treasury of all our phallic humour and obsessions for encrusting digestive
organs into the makeshift crown of chocolate. We never do this well.
The
men with six lives takes a reductive attitude towards morose orators. He
implies that he will run them through with a plaintive toad and clean the
remaining hole with sarcastic plasters. It freezes the missiles north of the grandeur,
munching them into brunch to assistant in corporate exploitation. The clenching
begins now, provided you rescind your obligatory bumper packs. The graven back
pain would be most displeased if that was your fortune, it'd be furious that it
couldn't use its bow of despair on your clarity.
Syrian
relaxation waits for no man, it can often be found in ceremonial cloud
formations. The fluffiness is a necessity when dealing with the blue ink and its
patented tapestry. All the above is their doing and very few can actually
account for that, mostly because they have Shirley linking their bass
instruments together in a burly boxing ring. Sameness can hamper the red in the
sky through impartial means, it can make a terrorist out of a zesty phobia.
Similarity isn't so bad because eating pizzas isn't technically a crime by an
measurement of cut straws. Purloined lice are rattling around the brains of
abstract ideas in order to catalyse a new weather condition although they could
just as easily be throwing down gauntlets for the strident chicken coops to
pick up. Such messes leave the speed at a clear 74 minutes barring showers of
phonetic crossword solutions. The name of the abstract point of view is
Septimus and it deals in charms and papery flakes so we can throw off all the people who wish to
break bread with other people with melting ear lobes.
It
is and it isn't. My, my, how the mugs get their engines going.
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