Another essay in the Jones of text
- Note: When I grow up, I want to be a kind and loving matador. Someone beat me to, at, and with it, so instead this happens.
Thousands of ears ago, before the down of Manny as we knew him, an eclectic eggplant everses eagerly to the docks. You remember the ducks, don't I? I was told there wouldn't be ducks involved, and the distinguishing asbestos atheist in the corner will gladly reconfirm this if you give him a dollop. You don't have a trollop, though. You sold them to that dashing young johnny. Can't say I blame you. Well, he could, and it'd be true, but then we wouldn't would have one, would we?
Meat me at St. Pills[edit | edit source]
So this is a story all about how a literal masterpiece (or was it a literary master bee?) was BRUTALITY. Undercut, I guess. It happened so fast and the car hadn't stopped, but if it did, I'd be a lot happy. You would? It's all a plague of my innovative worker! Innovative, groundbreaking, revolutionary, I will gladly massage your genitals with my tongue, outstanding. Bit I tigress. I prescient to you, the only and one, originally original documents. Take THAT, Dewey Decimal system!
As we can plainly see in the horizon, at least those of us that are not hopelessly short or sighted, there is an elephant there and its tail is dragging the ground like no yesterday. Its feet are twenty cubes and no, where can it be seen, is it you Theresa watching hard in my pocket socket. You cannot really do what you want to be, but in the future there is hope that the clocks will be turned upside down and thereby our sense of time will be backwards in steel.
I wasted along my fluffy overcoat in the bikini beach marmot, seeking to go into the house would be in the most indirect compartment as in every school all across the United Sticks United. Since I already was there, I had no choice but Jesus is that you, n, n, n - it's my rather in the heavy. Him? But we haven't seen him even in ages to come, what's he been dong? He's been dong nothing muchas gracias, señorita, his degree in law is just one of the hundred-and-eighty it took him to turn back and see the world as it used to be before he left right left right STOP!
- --The most dapper of dukes, Sir Constable Constance Blagwoskag (of royal Scottish lineage and you can't prove otherwise, nyah!)
I told ya don't touch that darn dang darn doodad! Did Danny do dat? No, Sir, I have not been thinking! HE has, and it thickens me like rotten Megs! But no (or was it yes?), those devil hounds and bevel grounds are all made of the squishiest of treasons! Treasons with a squishiness the likes of which I never see! Or smell, but that probably is for best. No, shut up, I know how to drive this thing!
The AUDACITY (or GARAGEBAND if you swing that way) of it all![edit | edit source]
Can I believe that such a such has perspired? That depends, what can you hook me up with? All these hooks in my face lead to one conclusion: forging in the metal pits of Scotland. I dare mention such a place three times in one wordbank, or else something. Something, you see? See you something? Forget what I see. The skewer is, the original is more original than that johnny young dapper and her waying weirds! What on terra firma could they possibly do now? I'm going to Disneyworld, and I'm going to shoot that son of a bitch.
Can you think I would hold your grudge while you go to the john? Well, yes, you'd be right. The truth should probably be known, or else I'm not of royal Scottish lineage! Oh, spheres. You told me not to do that whole thing with the bagpipes anymore. You are a bad father.
In Robert's Ass[edit | edit source]
There's Herpes.