Sunday, June 17, 2007

Coming Up Your PGA Ass

Dear Scrotal Tiger, It's been hard. Languishing even in a panty eruption from sweet high monument. Fool you once struck you yourself blind simply hammered because hammers struck blind eyes only when I transported fishes to Oakmont Ridge I realized the extent of the turnpike depth catastrophe, transfixed in the galaxy moment always unfolding as timespace becomes infinitely homicidal. This little signoff catastrophe makes everybody horny, from deep arbors to hallowed strange mines. The mines challenge you to straddle ranchers, your own dong betwixt like forms of oil clocktowers. Once nostrils, now the larger whole nostril, we expand our circular concept of death possibilities. Lightswitch phantasmagoria, something unlike molars erupting out your piehole. Please take heed from my final baked hammerblow.