02/11/2013 - IRON FILINGS STOP DOWN THE CAR

Iron filings stop down the car, reduce its land speed and rectify its watchable content. The clown makes itself into a pair-bonding tub for the iron filings but ends up resembling more of a secret agent with its hair climbing and clambering left then right then zigzag to a semiquaver. London is full of Arabian wipes but the officers never thank you for saying so and that's because they're truly afraid of the man with the glasses and his puppy pylon cannon. Some would hurt but not all whilst the king lies in check. You shave off the guard's robe and do you know what you have? Sickness, blind sickness deep underneath the subterraneous ground. The only way out is the BIOS screen and that just makes my heart go all greedy with its webbed fingers and trial and error workout regime. Give me a hand, give me a curtailed woodland creature and I'll show you to the cloakroom with knobs on and sarcastic children at my feet. Its sometimes informative to reside in enemy cottages, doubly so for nemeses if you have any.  Allow for a repeat in the report and you can't go very wrong, not with these women.

            My kelp has peaked in its quantifiable interest faculties but the eyebrow actor is actively attempting to bring down my thumping sound system before it can reach the chorus line. It's all due to heritage and toad squirts that offer themselves every mile or so to Morpeth. The lobster pot rallies a reactionary crowd and trumpets the reclusive author as the ignoramus of the century. Are you stupid enough to try to make this a staple for your diet? Are you crustacean enough? They say these barcodes could help but I'm dubious. Help me to untangle myself and who knows what rapture might back up.

            There is diddly vertigo to hand out among the wealthy elderly. You've got to be kidding me to be selling any viable psychology books to these maleficent masses as they're out walking the dog. You've got an attitude like wheels that become territorial of horror downfalls, the weak spots in the franchise that otherwise would exist in multiple hardback issues. The stick men and their sausage dogs are enforcers irrespective of the soapy shower scene that's expected of all vaguely tanned individuals. This is Iraqi propaganda and doesn't even bother to be a killer of worthy eyeballs. I'm going to straighten out these children's men with a crowbar and a few dots of MDF, I'm going to make them into Jesus on the Nile.

            Bring your kettle and I'll call the department for back-up. You'd sooner regret attempting a toothpaste sonnet than clash with me again. This is key to all that is hooch, most that is spice and some that is vinegar. It keeps raining and the velvet of these robes really can't be bothered to keep the dampness out. It seems like I should have applied the sealant to the back of my thumbs as well.