Sunday, September 16, 2007
Scratching food out of my velvet nostrils, princely pouches of gymnastic strudel. Oven caliber scorched me on Tuesday. Mustachioed fountains stabbed your johnson. Rivulets, Capulets destroyed your firmament. Feverish dances caused propoganda holistic in the air, webbing a coast is igneous landscapes. Ensemble my hurricane nachos, vendor outside Auschwitz Reststop. Never forget. Smoke all reefer from tits please. Showboat glistens in oboe harmony. Hobo time. They scoured our district with their handicrafts. Melty detectives discover scythes when lightning disrupts investigations. Twice a day, baked turkey appears suspiciously in different robes (PO boxes). On time is this question from the readership: we are wondering if crisped spinach tastes anything like potatoes from blackmarket. Sally O'Matic told big stories behind robot doors. Taco my foundation, Sally, thanks for pickles. Choral references from Adorno. Deweydecimal film optional. Frames, doors, windows, fixed electricity like earliest picture. Checkered motorcades snuck tribes back from the desert. Diasporic acid splashed accidentally on people, like a gravy. Despues, soy Sally!