It
is true, you know, how the margarita thunder splits the factions into even
smaller factions that eat even smaller quiches at the ends of holy and reverent
tables. It isn't an imposition to drill out the drum and thumb it's findings
with the pin's iris and all its merry threaded kiddies. All it takes is his quarto
machismo, his freckled malisma, his can-can cand-do candy attitude. We'd text
you the flimsiest details but they seem to fap to frequently to be just ailing
and crusty. There's a definite mistake on this team-up, there's a much loved
second to be tempted into Hungarian positions. Let's go down to the SOUTH SIDE
and part the envisioned masses with lottery funded party tricks, the kind that
involves walking over salmon graves. Dragging the curtain across seems to
achieve little outside of a brimstone script winding and rolling and flailing
upwards to confront its own naval navel passage. The image is an imposition to
say as much about the heartache as humanly credible. Nevertheless it's nice to
try and doesn't quite mail its loyalty through flintlock calculators. Logic, on
the other hand...
Solvent.
Solvent. Salvo. Solvent-Salvo. Solvent Super Hadron Collider. Hardy Solvent.
Hardy Soluble. Hardly Soluble. Hardly Soluble Solvent of Savvy Salvo. Chaplin
and Salvo. Salivating. SALIVATING. Solvents Again. Do you mind?
Good
gracious! The salamander's have been at the Western film collection again and
have left not popcorn container unturned. Trundle down to the park, they don't
usually get much farther than that the fat and ungracious bastards. They'll
gather around Neil's black, black coat and sing their songs of inebriated
madness and then dilute themselves into a missed cue before popping out
entirely. Goodness! At least that's what the women say. Then again, they are
apron-wearing types who can't think beyond the length and breadth of their
lipstick shot glasses. The men say it makes them stronger but I'm inclined to
believe it just turns them into rampant sex raiders. They fling themselves all
over the paintwork and become original in their taciturn spread.
1977,
1977, 1977, 1977, let's go to 1977, let's go to 1977, let's head to 1977, let's
1977, let's 1977 with the best of them like it was 1977 and we hadn't paid our
1977 electric bill before 1977 had even left the 1977 mark. This is the year of
our saviour's prolonged break. He had hives.
It
goes on and on and, and, and we don't say much else beside our expressions of
loneliness and part-time crucifixion contempt. It's a bath operation, a big
bunch of thanks that go unwarranted, that go for the knife.
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