Get
yourself some coffee, crack a can and split the prim toboggan with unlikely
methods. She was really rather professional and fabled in the stars when
bloated passage became a thing of the evening. It was beautifully fucked and
princely and right up the alley street of correct change. Staying sane means
not coming in the kitchen, not even daring to enter it or dilly dally or
nothing too prescriptive. Hit me with your best sidewinder and we'll test that
particular hypotheses with grim gusto and good gouging. The world needs less
crime through those specific methods. Not these specific methods, the one's
over there beside the plant pot armada.
We
all want the goodies for our small parts, we only want a decent amount of
protection and perhaps a written declarative to state this in a fancy-lined
tricky manner. There are no consequences, no drama, no precursor to the finale.
It makes for a playful tune but not one that sits well on any bought and paid
for sofa complex. The tap snags and snarls and makes our ragtime into splendiferous
dog ears. Goodness me, goodness glee, goodness for the sake of sanded-off shark
salutes! I do suppose that the only waxwork business that remains in this
tumult of a kingdom relies too heavily on headphone blasting technology but, as
of this moment, all of our shares are flooding into the rock of aged turkey.
Gobble goober! Go places and snog the host before he commands your head from
your sheltered shoulders.
Oh
but you are a dearest snob if not the dearest snob who dares to keel over and
spurt tantric saliva on horny-tailed bodices. The headbands are stark in their
defence of messenger suicide tapes, they will ride the evidence all the way to
the calculus tournament. These knockers keep knocking no matter who's in charge
and who ties the boots to the sweated guests. Before we can even get away with
that sort of shit we need to become more forgiving of ancient practises and
rituals like scratching backs and playing tennis on the green.
No comments:
Post a Comment