Fine, I will send him back, packaged in saran wrap and banana leaves. You should recieve him within the next two and three-quarter years. Give him my apologies if he happens to suffocate before he arrives. But please send me his genotype, so that I may compare it with that of an industrial angelfish.
You should drop by sometime next minute, so that we can drink tee soup and mooch on curlicue sandwitches. I presume that will be satifactory. If not, you may wish to consult with the mummy that resides beneath your pillow on Thunderdays.
all day long i have tried to figure out what n****e is. i believe it is my life quest to find out. soon i will rub my large homegrown melons with coconut oil and set out in a little boat shaped like two mountains in order to discover the origins of n****e. being a nutcracker by birth, i have a genetic code that is worth tampering with. that is why i have to hide under piles of soiled bras on my life quest. becase the government keeps looking for me everywhere else. for some reason, it's hard to breathe under so many lacy undergarments. i thought at first they would be just frilly and silky and with my new underwear-breathing gills from FAMCO i was sure i could live there for many years searching for the elusive n****e. but no luck. after 15 minutes my face started turning blue, which is practically a miracle of god considering my head is made of wood.
it's far too tiring to eat an entire automobile all at once. i tried to just rub the door handle on my face, but it gave my warts cancerous mutations which have allowed me to live out my life as a percussion instrument in the london symphony orchestra. i'm the metal triangle. ever since the lady who bangs on me stared wearing a polka dot bikini to rehearsal, i've not had to be hit by anyone. instead i've been hung in her car from the rear-view mirror. from this vantage point i can see what you mean about tango, and i wish the cows in the pasture could quit contemplating higher mathematics long enough for me to feed them ding dongs with chocolately manufactured plastic creams.
those babies would certainly live forever if they would just try some of my salmonella milkshake, but no. they believe they're too mixed up for it, or perhaps that it's too mixed up for them, I'm not sure, and nothing will convince them otherwise, not even my army of caramel locusts. You should definitely at least try and taste my symphony of conveyer belts engines and recycling trucks before the next blizzard. My entire family recomends it, except for the sombrero man.
what do you mean no musical talent? my bicycle only plays paula abdul's national anthem. i want to lick the inside of your tofu asparagus. spare a gus. spear a gust. i love shoes with nuclear thrust.
i have to admit .. when i think about you i touch my peppermint. i mean, my stash of peppermint candies. it's about a foot high now. i only suck them for about 15 seconds before i add them to the pile. every time i go to sonic drive thru i get two more. i'm shaping them into a giant statue of mighty mouse, and he's holding a copy of the mona lisa, and the mona lisa is holding a coy. that's a japanese fish. and in the fish's mouth is a little party. it's a birthday party for you, for when you turn 14 and 3 quarters years old ... but i'm measuring time by saturn's orbit so it's a little complicated comparing that to earth years. mostly i think you're sideways.
that's a relief. so ... i get to wear it when we're not in church? won't it be all sticky with my saliva? i'm not sure about this anymore ... i was opening a pack of crackers and there was a little message inside that said, "rubber hose! rubber hose!" and i fell into a dream about the beatles and they were crawling from the mouth of a decaying mommy, ringo and the other ones, and they were waving little pink flags that had pictures of your bra on them inside a burning church but i knew it wasn't a real church cause all the bibles were pink and had pictures of the beatles on them BUT TOTALLY WITHOUT FACIAL HAIR and that's when i knew it couldn't be a real church cause everyone at a real church has a big big beard.
An apple for your eye? Surely, you misheard the mockingbird. By the way, the biosphere prostests your phantasmagorical political ideals by lashing the sleeves of their oversized tshirts at you.
PRAISE YOUR ME
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Fine, I will send him back, packaged in saran wrap and banana leaves. You should recieve him within the next two and three-quarter years. Give him my apologies if he happens to suffocate before he arrives. But please send me his genotype, so that I may compare it with that of an industrial angelfish.
You should drop by sometime next minute, so that we can drink tee soup and mooch on curlicue sandwitches. I presume that will be satifactory. If not, you may wish to consult with the mummy that resides beneath your pillow on Thunderdays.
all day long i have tried to figure out what n****e is. i believe it is my life quest to find out. soon i will rub my large homegrown melons with coconut oil and set out in a little boat shaped like two mountains in order to discover the origins of n****e. being a nutcracker by birth, i have a genetic code that is worth tampering with. that is why i have to hide under piles of soiled bras on my life quest. becase the government keeps looking for me everywhere else. for some reason, it's hard to breathe under so many lacy undergarments. i thought at first they would be just frilly and silky and with my new underwear-breathing gills from FAMCO i was sure i could live there for many years searching for the elusive n****e. but no luck. after 15 minutes my face started turning blue, which is practically a miracle of god considering my head is made of wood.
it's far too tiring to eat an entire automobile all at once. i tried to just rub the door handle on my face, but it gave my warts cancerous mutations which have allowed me to live out my life as a percussion instrument in the london symphony orchestra. i'm the metal triangle. ever since the lady who bangs on me stared wearing a polka dot bikini to rehearsal, i've not had to be hit by anyone. instead i've been hung in her car from the rear-view mirror. from this vantage point i can see what you mean about tango, and i wish the cows in the pasture could quit contemplating higher mathematics long enough for me to feed them ding dongs with chocolately manufactured plastic creams.
those babies would certainly live forever if they would just try some of my salmonella milkshake, but no. they believe they're too mixed up for it, or perhaps that it's too mixed up for them, I'm not sure, and nothing will convince them otherwise, not even my army of caramel locusts. You should definitely at least try and taste my symphony of conveyer belts engines and recycling trucks before the next blizzard. My entire family recomends it, except for the sombrero man.
what do you mean no musical talent? my bicycle only plays paula abdul's national anthem. i want to lick the inside of your tofu asparagus. spare a gus. spear a gust. i love shoes with nuclear thrust.
SUPER SECRET UPDATE!
Pink rain tonight! Curl down with a messy spider tongue soup and chemical ice molecule sandwich! For your health!
>w< Your sig. rocks! Totoro = LOVE <333 I like the pics. on your profile too! ~
i have to admit .. when i think about you i touch my peppermint. i mean, my stash of peppermint candies. it's about a foot high now. i only suck them for about 15 seconds before i add them to the pile. every time i go to sonic drive thru i get two more. i'm shaping them into a giant statue of mighty mouse, and he's holding a copy of the mona lisa, and the mona lisa is holding a coy. that's a japanese fish. and in the fish's mouth is a little party. it's a birthday party for you, for when you turn 14 and 3 quarters years old ... but i'm measuring time by saturn's orbit so it's a little complicated comparing that to earth years. mostly i think you're sideways.
that's a relief. so ... i get to wear it when we're not in church? won't it be all sticky with my saliva? i'm not sure about this anymore ... i was opening a pack of crackers and there was a little message inside that said, "rubber hose! rubber hose!" and i fell into a dream about the beatles and they were crawling from the mouth of a decaying mommy, ringo and the other ones, and they were waving little pink flags that had pictures of your bra on them inside a burning church but i knew it wasn't a real church cause all the bibles were pink and had pictures of the beatles on them BUT TOTALLY WITHOUT FACIAL HAIR and that's when i knew it couldn't be a real church cause everyone at a real church has a big big beard.
Shall we hazard a chance at this game?
An apple for your eye? Surely, you misheard the mockingbird. By the way, the biosphere prostests your phantasmagorical political ideals by lashing the sleeves of their oversized tshirts at you.