Going to war never looked so good. You hold a packet of
leaves and discuss moral ambiguity and wrap the day up with a nice hold-up at
some local supermarket or post office then jump off an explodying helicopter ro
two. If you can’t tell, my mind is swivelling, delving itself into devilled
eggs and clapping hands on pay cheques that are undeserving of this way and
spend far too much time glowing into jump cuts and the jeeps that pass by them
like ties on a blind man’s shirt. It gets hot out in the jungle and all the
hills and mountains aren’t safe for now. The hell is tough and you need to hurt
with sexy fabric revelations. What you did back there is alma mater, try to
cross to THailnd and takers are lovely and deserve wide-angle shots with
puckered lips and red dresses. This is the happen in the water, it doesn’t care
for concern or occurience it just wants to be all right and you’re right to
think the way you do because the rocky darling had to die with chin in the air
and mind in the salt. This is more revenge. Revenge is in charge here. Place
the shades under arrest and you’ll never have a chance. You should really go
home while it has its priorities straight and weepy.
How the many are going to run through the muck and bone
the halves of loaves that counter-exact the topographical blames system. They’ll
pick you off one by one and and paint your face in a ruby black that gunshots
could never hope to replicate without the aid of humanitarians and nihilists
joining forces in a gentle breeze of amicability. The waters are for boots and
walking through them will result in nothing short of blurry vision and shows
going over and over until they’re over the hay and showing themselves up on
live television in front of a live studio audience. The manifold mud creep is
totting a bow and arrow and he has all kinds of comedy air sounds to obstinate.
Beer does the best impression of a man with his back aagisnt the wall and full
of isn’t is not advents and gamer cutscenes.
You are as good as bamboo for looking here, you will
cluck for the oeuvre of your art instructor and play ahead on the bright-eyed
and bushy-tailed heteronormative glycolic behaviour. The banners are a greatway
to store glass and grass and weedy alliances cranked up to the maximum
allegiance ratio for the soaking in of bloody rags and burning dry colonic
irrigation into frosty interdimensional hypocrisy. They take you in for
questioning and then you become a wicker lkooalike for someone who is not a man
who poses bywater falls or fifth ears.Bullets do what they can but sometimes
the eye is enough to pull through and end a fool with a tripping clay captives
like the balls they really are. Just paint with a glaze and don’t stop with the
chief jokes.
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