Clementine snippets of gleam pasteurized upon the Bengal shore. Heuristic clash ends miffed and stinted; they could nay wrestle insidious calumnies amend.
If I holstered a fine extortion and freshened a virulent treacle, then why would you ornate your juggernauts amidst the prevalent winds of ire? I pestle and wend but cannot fulminate the quotient. No femur or living dander whists near me. I am gauntly alone.
I plead handedly with the merman existents of time. But they lessen knot. Alas, I will troll until all is abash. And then I whiten and lathe no more.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
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