kingsuperspecial you may wonder how many licks does it take to get to the center of a can of spam? well, I have no fucking idea, but I'd suggest you put the can of spam on a piece of toast first.

it's much better that way, trust me.

:: end of chapter one ::
kingsuperspecial down, Ballseed, down!

the mighty flumox reared up, it's ghastly odor stunning the midgets. the driver froze, their bright green beetle careening pell-mell amongst the daisybuds. It spun tight through the legs of Ballseed, the great Vanderfookin leaning far out of his saddle to snatch a midget from the sunroof before the errant car splashed into the briney slickbog, spilling dazed midgets asunder.

"mmmmm...chocolate_pie" mumbled Vanderfookin, sniffing the midget's feet and licking his fingers.

:: end of chapter 7 ::
paste! the bearded harpsichord will freeze over. just like that. and thus, in vitro (because of recent laws), the leopard of mild-examination will no longer be forced to search, to stumble for a subject to make the paper shark disappear from his disgruntled sleep. "and in the beginning, god created lithographs" will no longer apply. 011101
Dafremen "What immense proportions you have my dear", clucked the usher to his bonny bride as she oozed down the aisle.

"Thank you dear, but this is baked goods, we wanted the squids and eels aisles."

With that the snooker was on, bouncing, happy hen fritters leapt at the chance to rejoice in their deep fried goodness and a chorus of skittles rocked the house with their deep, baritone FD&C Red #40-coated chortles.

"Jump darling." She did.
"Again baby." She does.
"Noooow to the left."
"Nooooow....just the LICHENS!!"
paste! directly from the regenerated pox, welcome, Rosa Jo Jo--

Dafremen "Want it is", replied Fuskus, treacle zig zagging up his thigh.

"Shoo Shoo, but the poppies flip when they aren't needed! Want the gazebo if you like, but skip the flapjacking if it's all the same to you."

"It most certainly not. I'll fine you 6 carbuncles for futhness if you can't straighten up this mess."

Who was Brinna to argue? If that's the way he wanted flank her sneed, so be it.

Flinging boxes at the wall, she had the porticullis ship-shape shortly, with time enough for tea.
good people mm.. crunchy.
my sega genesis tells me when my canoe is leaking.

chapther two? the iguanas steal italy

the iguanas are under the impression that italy was once under their control... iguanas indeed. more likely that the lobsters. possibility.

the sloth is in the gravy again.
Dafremen "Bring me my baritone sax!" ordered the headmaster, "I've need for Purple Rain."

He placed the horn upon his head and danced a wiggly jig.

Is there such a place? Is there such as he? Could the vinegar-soaked remains of our self-esteems depend upon his musings?
even She loves to eat chicken in the shower, she's good at it too. My only problem is the fact she forgets to crank the foghorn when she cautions the repetitiveness of her brain. It's really quite stupid. When asked if she'd be taking the current this time, she replied "NO", reason being: the instruments played by angels when their harps are in for repair, were not crass enough.

dafremen Perhaps she should form a Crass Section. 120310
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