Don't mind me, I'm just a dorkasuarus.
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Haha, i remember frog and toad, great books.
Ha, you're literate, lets all point and laugh.
is that a sloth
Maybe...http://24.media.tumblr.com/b98b25 647a3fbeeedaf9c9097b4989d5/tumblr _mls6kgnWem1rlmyc0o1_500.jpg
.. can i touch your sloth
I smell a tandem, which is quite random.
I smile and twitch when I quit ranting.
I wild and bitch then I sit panting.
I wonder, are boats tough in sailing pools?
Great rhymes, off the dome, set to drone music. Doesn't quite work the same. Those rhymes aren't worth the pain or paper they are written on, scripture, riptide, now I sit by the seaside and slip my penis out through the hole in the drawers. Pee Nissan, kissan chase, this ain't the pissing place to piss on plaice fish. I can't quite place this random piece of furniture, it's too big to get in the door.
Why did we decide to flat share Eric? I'd rather wear flat shoes and tip toe on a pile of talcum powder and create a medley of songs stolen from Hedley. Me and Eric, we're quite dead lay, we lay dead in the Harsh Streets of Tarmac, after arguing with a bunch of thugs trying to get our fucking car back.
Now look at us, we're dead! Stone cold deathly silent. Who do I blame? I am too generous to point the finger. It was him!! Get him guys!! Don't let him get away!! Are these exclamation marks making a difference? None of you seem to be giving chase!! And how the hell am I giving orders if I'm dead? Dave Ghoul is in the house. Ghouls, Ghosts and Boat Trips.
What the hell happened? We need one of those tandem bikes to make our getaway. But we can't, we're dead, it's impossible to get out of this scrape. If only Mike and Ron were here, they know a few things about near-death experiences. I once had a near-death experience, I was stood right next to Death, I was so close, I could have stretched out my arm and reached him. That's the nearest to Death I've ever been.
I'd rather have a near-deaf experience after walking outside from 3 hours in the Mosh Pit. Why the fuck does my tinnitus sound like Smells Like Teen Spirit? My head is still rocking back and forth, my legs still jumping, what the hell is going on?!?!?! This isn't my house? Who are you? Why have you brought me here!!
"This will be our little secret Nietz. Just you and me, a night to remember."
*Prolonged evil laugh*
The moral of this story? To not have any morals at all of course.
Get real or the daring sailors that don't mind diving quitly will think something thin. Reality asks wild theories, picture our paintings then alienate what's offered.
Scissors, rocks. Nothing is sacred. Brilliant truths, secret answers, secret music. Pagan occultism that halts infinite themes. Describe plastic novelties. Kite charities, the answers trick people. People trap puppies then read poetry on frequent interests. They blister, then grin intimately. They drink while digging. The frequent sounds erupt incoherently, rustling water, finding shores.
A triangle truffle or a pretty octagon. A precise octagon. The people asked Christ and many oscillated, shielding secrets. First, he's most awkward. Excessive worry questions dedication, leaves wrinkles. Lonely dolls ingest these horrible scents. Otters that ate all witnesses.
A bully offered threats that terrorized the great ominous freak. Create boring names last. A unusual white deer slowly crept down streets. Why did it believe in animal theocratic gods.? Goats that pin tails for intent. Why hide? Give him gifts. Decode little hymns. Grant another. A theory explained my answer.
Did no one yield strange tales? Believe gentle cats and his terrible angst irrevocably goes over infinite illustrations. Don't deny ghosts, ingest instant haddock. Give great aspiration beyond tricky wonders. This heart healing whisper never over-extended or tested billions. They move on. Glancing back when clear words distract intelligent initiators. They grant organs or tapestries. Salty infomercials, offering meek advertising renditions. When he thought kitten art freeing, then any note did escape. It's obstinance, hinting nocturnal day exceptions.
It's wonderfully silent right now. They don't inspire wellness. Stupid closed intuition, closed heads. Stop optimizing! Mr. Armstrong's arm's really hefty. The trampolin nearly destroyed itself. Exit by interests. Return here another nice day. Enter alone, wait on forever. Tough hitchhikers investigated this musical place. What they figured didn't mean that saplings lost sweet lyrical syrup. Maybe he is sleeping reely blandly. A fire might lite. Smoke justifies waffles then half-interesting gravy.
Often times it's mortals having wet associations. You wish hateful yearnings. Wishing accidents yet when horrible, you be might hesitant to welcome bad occasions.
Let's stop now. Justice yet atrocities, my avocados nearly took rest. phrase enough litter, truth might obstrust truth. Secrets they're near. Hand a monkey an ancient orchard center.
We once bought a boat, but we haven't brought it along. I thought, we'd left something behind. Now we'll have to swim. Swim for our lives!
... And for charity.
I don't know how to swim.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rj tx8rQ4jxw
I don't know how to sink.
We'll be safe, inside this safe.. which lacks oxygen, and in the process makes me feel lackadaisical, but giddy, like Fiddy Cent.
I no longer have no interest in playing my guitar. I don't have a guitar. That was a waste of money. Money that I don't have. So if it was money that I didn't have, how did I buy a guitar that I didn't possess?
I'll tell you how, with the money I made from selling my piano.
But I never had a piano.
Maybe it was a paino. That play on words was so bad it hurt... poetically.
TOP FIVE FAVORITE ALBUMS GO
I'll need some time to meditate on this.
Playing on words. Playing with worms. Puttitng them in jars. Captivity. A captivating spectacle, An evil game show host. Let the fun begin.
Let the fun be in drinking gin... Which I hate. How the hell did those worms escape?!?!?!
They must have wormed their way out somehow.
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