You
put me down, you big brute! Please! Your snout is all cold and flared and your
belly grumbles with termites and plastic metabolism. It's a sign of insecurity
to be nice to the sweet monkey, to make a friend out of the dirty thing. If you
speak softly you get hit by his sunny side chauvinism and turn into a lonely
object of nature like me. There's no help for this fried-up baby, flailing its
arms in vintage sauce. At least the burden registers on the radar report. Maybe
we can lose the man with excessive facial hair for he is the apex of my very
soppy downfall. I read it in my astrology. You dig that dive?
This
is an apostrophe for morons, a slideshow for a ditz with her towering necklace
and powdered inner child. Test the samples with grainy oil and mule piss, a
concoction unto itself. Could you maybe bring the gulf into this? This is what
I propose: we issue an air drop on the bearded fellow then remove his purple
vest and condone it for safe keeping and then we somehow lose half the party by
angering the bus goodies before they can take our girls from us. Our grid iron
darlings will be rolling along like hefty logs at this time, toothy too.
It
looks like a child with a curtain hair style, vaguely cagey and ill-timed
thanks to the roars of Republicans. You want spirited debate and I want
spiritual debate while hanging low enough to retract your money bags from their
liable placements. Go ahead and give me a certain kind of sadness while I'm
still in this pet shop hat. You really think that's going to ring a bell, let
alone report back immediately? Do you see the scimitars that the local children
left behind? They've been proposing contact to sweater vessels, all six of each
crew. Don't worry about it too much, Captain, you'll get your hope bones soon
enough. Now kiss me, you mad fool! Not so slender now. Can't you see, can't you
see? Please, please, please get away from me. My chef instincts want to make
love with the yellow spirit while it takes me away from the beaded brassiere.
I've
grown a lampshade on my rattling foreskin, its saving itself for marriage on
one Jack-shaped rainy day. It's one of the most magnificent snake shakes I've
ever seen for now. My wisdom teeth are killing it, kicking it, pulling it off
in the one true gay way. They're gonna jump alongside the magic cat and its
apish features. West by northwest without any velocity. Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Uhuh!
It's hot now all set for the peels of naked chest destruction.
I
met a Ukrainian student once, bearing a half-lit lantern filled with hair lice.
He didn't seem to care for the sketches involving his former party trick
involving pastry and midget boxers. They took the shine right off the herring,
he tells other people.
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