1Z/01/2014 - TEAMS FROM THE ENVIRONMENT

Teams from the environment agency are constantly asking about the triumvirate that secretly asks questions about the honest policies of most laterally thunking foundations. he water coolers are out and the graphic novelists are ready to open their raison d'être sticks out to the straight and unlaced world. The burdens are juicy and the sexy voices that only come crashing out of the night time sky will thunder with outrageous proportions and make you stronger than you've ever been before. You'll nearly die and then ask questions about the parents and their hieroglyphic race against hedonism.. Hundreds of miles away they're debilitations will be sharpening the wands into finesse with berries and ghoulies and various other yolks. Turn things off for tomorrow and you'll thank me for it, like your ornithologist and his two-bit letter bust. He keeps doing it in the rain and doesn't even care when the singles hit the charts and he's the one without the buzz in his pocket or even a likely friend to inform him before the sun comes out. Oh how he lives his life in the stone age and doesn't give one jot of a tattle! Keep telling him to check for stamps though!

It’s so frighteningly telling that it strips little cherubs of their protective covering and leaves them in bubble suits that don’t quite wrap around sufficiently, let alone give the woman bearing a lighter the chance to set normality on fire. As the centimetres will afford you, life isn’t so good for the decibels, they spend half their time worrying about the other half of their time which remains a mystery even to themselves. They can’t say why the cogitate but their subjunctive verbs fit the bill all right so I suppose we can only thank our lucky stars that the milk hasn’t been spun to splashing point yet. Everyone has a dark side when it comes to lovely walks on the beach with your mind on cheap science fiction films and all the times you captured your image without really considering the significance of the wig in the background. Matters improve and all the coffee in the world wouldn’t, couldn’t and really shouldn’t go back an hour for mere congratulations and self congratulations. The show requires sexually transmitted progress reports so plain old rapport will not just suffice and that means putting your fingers out to pasture.

The capitalists go around with hats on their heads and immortality that is the size and wid5h or an ant living on a combine harvester. I’m watching like a pie smuggler with milk in his pockets and all the dependent girls do despondency with minimal plot. I would   reassess that moment so that we might  be somewhere and a sad little man with an Irish accent and a tapering dismissal of most emergency hours. The shielded television coughs up a lung and you try to flower shop , where men’s throats freeze up and the giant man’s head banging against a cathedral is more of a first try.