Breathtaking
surrey along the gentle wreckage of the onceuponatime confessional booth. The
splinters are just yummy and the area and circumference have been vastly
improved, thanks for asking. I’m so glad that the gratuity of the ice beam has
finally run you over with espousal quality and an undercarriage to match the
finest dress of the firmest lady in waiting.
Chainsaw
ellipsis underneath the camp wheel of the wheelbarrow. This is one perfect way
to stand for the sake and pretension of realm thinking, you loose your
automatic webs like a grabber who is far too overdressed for their own good.
You ask and you’re never going back to see what past accounts for The Past Feast.
The frisking there’s a nightmare besides. The cold doesn’t seem to bother many
of the confessors anyway who prefer to operate in pitch black conditions with a
unanimous samurai katana on standby, standing alongside their Zulu shield.
Limited
laser capacity from the fractal whiteness of a baby chick in the killing
fields. Ask for the nobody in the room and you’ll find your hand filling up
with cheering speed and lighted rage that glows grey and spits out navy blue
just in case you aren’t listening or preparing yourself for the whopper.
Spending a life giving in to the madness of money and gaslight Warfarin will
see the tissues fall once and for mostly those concerned and with stock
somewhere down the lines. There’s plenty to lose and only a mild amount of
bothersome aftershocks created within the cold confines of night time. Watch
out for the better beverages because they are the fiercest offenders and will
blank you on sight. Nobody likes to be scenic when there’s a film crew with its
unanimous nose pointed down and burrowing between the sheaths of rock that
cuddle up to the core and warm their tootsies.
The
blades hear and stand and stand to point at the hearing aids that we so
cleverly conceal behind our invisible ears and flickering ears of corny cornea.
Tomorrow lost its mind before the weekend and now it just won’t get it back due
to discourteous remarks on a motherly part. The spider has its own band and
lives and plays in the light of day and absolutely nowhere else unless you pay
him too, each of his little legs. You must be this spindly to rock this joint
and that’s the ruling of the court of insects. Contempt is so easily a prayer
on the back of a paperback sandwich that money makes for the tasting of all
pitch-perfect music teachers and only the wettest half of their wettest class.
The casts will be made out to the past and the paste it leaves behind in lieu
of a trail, the yummyhahah that corrects each facility it slimes and shimmies
through. The man who was a king brought a spade along to sharpen on the
grindstone but he didn’t know where to place it afterwards so now he’s just
wandering the plains.
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