Perforate the turtle van and then lie in wait for the cold caller
fear mongers. Am I ready to be loaded? Give us a sec, we're hurrying through.
Fucking Jamaican Crossroads! Goddamn fibula weirdo! 'Tis better to jam out and
say nice remarks than to bark yes for the government consultant. Bring us out
of this funk or else we'll cut the cutlass and make like a fragrant comic book.
That is hurtful and takes some time to get up to date again with. Chubby
arguments fill my mouth with sandy marshmallows and Wandering Jews. Then again
the changeling could be just coming up to refund the bursary with his reputable
makeup wardrobe. You have to apply yourself or die in the virginal woods. How
the stormy winds make hepatitis out of supernova helicopter skulls. Let's go to
the basement and stuff the baby with beer bong technology. Cleanse while eating
down. Cleft the mmmartyr with smoky
numbers. Run away the buckets or slash me with soda: the decision is yours and
will not be conducive to mustard gags. Let's just say it's realllllly good, eh?
Go on the lam and break my finger bone. Such a sorry Samoan analogy. Such a
Sally Stem on the rinse.
Get
the right correction or go find an event to misconstrue. The misanthropes are
missing the misty mire and moustache twirling in Mr. Thank's mild, middling misery.
We're homing in on his prized bean collection, we're going to tie down his
tweed and wheedle him out of his nylon socks. That's just a little of the sum
summary for you to bathe in maybe. The detail is a detainment in a lonely soul
musician clearly, it shivers in the missed opportunity of uppity in this maize
massaging farce. The chances of bad drawings are limited to the brave and
incompetent devotees. Do you have conviction? Do you have a family? Do you wear
derrrrvishes and have a close personal relationship with the Broadcasting Assocation?
We have a glitter patty just for you, my friend. We have a door that doesn't
even fold seventy one times. The trick is to avoid the square conformity, as
proposed by our impressionable prime minister. Glean that if you will do
favours and gay parties.
We
insist that we were strung along by MPs and their most cherished mop semen. The
dustbin rumbles with turquoise bank solutions. This is the forecast, the dirty
fool's forecast. He has a forest to lose your children in should you wish to
cut off their noses and trim down their trouser pockets. We serve to ask no
questions and are prepared to operate on clean residences. We have a
boil-in-the-bag nightfall, we can channel the shade of turnaround and all its
princess magic. I suppose you might call us theatrical but we're not the only
ones who employ bunny bears just to use and borrow their eyelashes. It was
always a yeoman's plan, it was always a working equivalent that is according to
debate.
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