13/02/2014 - THAT PARTICULAR ARTICLE

That particular article isn’t quite as articulate as the essay which says that everything seems to be normal while shutters are all down and the fish pond is closed for carp reasons. I trust the integrity of the contributor almost as much as I know her in the orange lamplight of surly bedtime which I don’t even. Can you wheel around town with any more flagrant disregard for the sneak attacks currently being taken into position? Give me sake and I will hide in the barn until the coast is clear on every front. The words are splashing about in the puddles and the contributor has a whistle to blow before the pressgang tracks her down and demands that she cries tears of chamberlain blood. This usually happens when arrivals and reprisals are carrying on at the same time on a computer background. The internal mechanisms are turning medicinal, becoming guardians of their own escort hard drive. In the mean time I will be sorry to disappoint her for the fullness of KIMONO.

            I will be the humanitarian in this example, dressed to the nines for samurai combat and brandishes fists the size of potatoes so that nothing can be done aside from a successful arrest. Police procedure wins through once again. The beginning of dawn is on you and you can find suggestions in safer places but where do you suggest? The ladies have taken us far but nowhere near as far as the contributor tends to take her essay. She has eyes on the stratosphere.

            Or so says the publican who has his eyes on everything the contributor does, she is a minor celebrity and they are always the easiest to pervert with killing strategies and death threats. The world deals with such people in the aforementioned barn and the haircut it ultimately receives isn’t worth the face on your head or the sword in your hilt. A stupid friend makes for a scruffy scurvy sufferer. Your plans appear to be working nevertheless. Do what light says, exactly what the light says and the paper doors will tear open with fiery hazard and aerodynamic microchips. This is the one who offered me the brainy job but I’m blind so how could I be of any practical use to the fresh approach everybody is so definitely seeking and clapping their hands to the beat of? This is what its like to feel flushed, doused and riddled with scabies.

            The barking is endless in the dealer’s boat but the contributor still has her eyes set on the notorious heavens with hopes that she will get to slash a few old hags’ necks before they can make her critical thought obscure and perhaps convoluted. The hairs on her flash are now coming off in fleshy lumps and we owe our lives to speaking softly about her parentage. As of now, the beards are coming off with the other two guards. The boat will tip asunder and we cannot go further so don’t ask me to. It smells beyond the clouds.