17/06/2013 - THROW IN STUFF

            Throw in stuff that doesn't happen. That's not the only thing, get this to a map where your father is. She crumbles in the mood of a thousand burning friend zones, she warms her bra on the flicker of rock-dodging. He listens while his face melts, listens to his sister creep up behind her with a refuse collector van. He lolls out on the floor when the map is discovered and the sister screams with killer looks and birdsong. There are so many screwed on mindsets to be had in this situation is staggering. Here is my contrived moment, it felt unbelievably forced to bulge in sobriety. Alas what does it build up to? A bounty hunter with a burrow where her arse should be. It is undeniable proof that God is getting soft and muscle bound. It cancels out the rapture with explanations tucked away and thumbed for later. Amazons and Valkyries are in fact normal size but more bloodthirsty than you could ever successfully counter. Dude, it's uncomfortable and inconsistent.

            The climax makes for a good fight, the hole in the middle loses all interest and starts swallowing to pass the time animatedly. They told her that it was very nicely done on a dinosaur, that the perfume was in fact saved to be savoured by the salvo sovereign. You've got them going to the rocks to drink sake and raise the letter yes. How much does the ethic cost? More than a rebellion, rest assured. It makes you blissfully moral, an upstanding citizen with wobbly teamwork that makes loss like risk-taking. It does pay off, the map foretells. These tracks cause minor offences but we like the little thing in the middle there. How many episodes before the scamper juices? How just? That is very well done and naturally gonna happen. So don't be miffed about it or the gremlins will come and suck out your lymphomas and leave miniscule partiality behind. The skull is a mysterious and murky place unless you're playing tiddly-winks. God rest your soul if you've only just managed to comprehend that reference. Sorted, as they say.

            I am apprehensive in my nudity, my slippery converge will cause the looks to fade into street culture and that's all there'll ever be of the British salute I once loved. It takes a good year to sulk and shut the refrigerator door. There all sorts of value systems that just won't stay inside, not for all the wrinkled chips in the roundabout. The maid freeze-dries her contribution like any old dookie, docile and smashingly. These lodgers she tends are pouring rice everywhere because nobody's got round to footing them the bill yet. What a strop. It's for the garrotte we show our displeasure and we show it like a runt in a horrid body. Let's all move on before the chips fry and gargle their anthem to a percentage of the air raid. Sarcasm hones in when you're not looking just to be damned sure.