Packed With People, Packed With–Damn, Little Girl

updated & tragic


I had been sucked in, staggering with maximum cookout.  Up the Sequoias.  Bummer.  Up in here.   In these owly old woods…

I, err, like being stoned. I went to the whore, where there is wifi. The dread whore, anybody working for money. Or, the exact opposite, moot. But, one may not count on any but the surliest people that are not whom is stoned. I tried to get some product via wifi; the ticket called me on my phoning in the captive. If you want to save the world, shut your mouth and start to spin it. No, I have no D.J. crimp. There still is a blank row on the political right and left. It always starts with arresting leftists. Where to put ’em?

Lucky number seven called my name.

I thought I was something that was under surveillance when I just took out the trash.

When I’ve been up to paris and start to snapped ’em apart. But, cracker. Eurotrash girl. I searched the world over. Typing practice, and a case of the crabs.

Into my dumbage*
Slope hand, I
stayed grim through it, make it calliope featuring CMB [1922-2015], today the only light there is runnin’, a train I’m drunk himself. A particle, ash. The run comin’, buried standing up, the chuckle buried, guvament to the chickle gatory to the side. The premie we could win. Jesus. if it included me, Mom. I tell ya yet: My mother only makes Saturdays. One could only walk her cronkites. Run o’ the mine (ROM) with porrie. The miser rue it. Club your own genius. I can’t write –sebber could later–with so many devices. Yeah, in me. I could be guarded, in the perspicacity of this (make it go daown). Pizzabox, what–talkin’ you about. My regular fuzzy-wuzzy, well, you still gonna need a rope. I’m busted by saying there is Dad.

Just let it go.  Never let me go.  Do you ever get a lot of light you give off?  Scream, holler, get someone.


X-box___________       _____________Everybody fell on Pops.

_____________Kimon. _____________Give him a hand!  Aww, thank-you. 

I’m wet._______ __________________ Bobby, it’s time to follow in my footsteps as Taliban towel manager.

What are you gonna do?



giphy N-strike the modulus of dermal elasticity risk-free.  Thou woulda breaths are taking a pee-break

giphy N-strike the modulus of dermal elasticity risk-free. Thou woulda breaths are taking a pee-break

boxy-0, El Che, ridiculous, are rices poplar

boxy-0, El Che, ridiculous, are rices poplar

Love-me-GIFS-justin-bieber-must be seventeen, allover mixed-up.

Love-me-GIFS-justin-bieber-must be seventeen, allover mixed-up.

In this kind a art, and teen spoil, I think about less monish. Can I, “dear gable”; clark with any of you? Daddy’s little finger twitches.  He’s still alive.  Ah’s a nest of in-crowd, because a) many men, typically bald, walk by the pool with our young son–to get in there. Woll oll show ye how to get into here, or, as we say we die work something exciting ratgear.  And being it seeing things in a tornado for awhile.  And limit as far as a tornado or something bad, 50,000 fans; it’s all she wrote, 50,000 after the first few omigod messages, the strongest possible, dong-ding.

I starded this post, if you want the light, before my mother, mellowina movement of women.  So help me, conshtrained to the very spot I’d started the post before, prior, putting a star to left wind of wit.  JB’s an internet phenom.  He has all the numbers.  Despite noms-du-jour, ‘e (Cockney) has Twitter numbers of incredible–two numbers.  How does he do that?  Everybody empty out the pool!

*A couple ways.

Using, used or end uses, actually the first erroneous ‘w’ to survive as Jesus has survived–for what, with the Jesus fart, gadget, or cloying, tight deal (all of us trees.  Bust out) tearing your niche apart.  In the road for an erection lasting longer than four hours.  Those trees are going to die.  Opened the full wood, or refined chrome access.  Our pool’s to the eighties.  To the cart-it .  Room for everybody.  So sorry, Sir Patrick 😦 (Liar!  That’s nobody.)




I’ll fit into’s when, like having a dog sandy in a car in a lot of people’s plans.  Start a Justin things in five minutes.

The tornado comes straight for him, and then Biebers away from him at the last moment.  But then it veers towards him, the rays are trees spearing thoo the windows.  Boo-hoo-hoo. the tree ripped the roo-hoo-hoof off.  She was very obsessed.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Oh, God,

You have to save us here, one, should it be about getting only killed.  While not the business of every ninety-three year old, you’re not eighty anymore.  You’re going to die, Jeff.  You hired me.  I want it up.

Still breathing, when… we were young, still carrying heavy weights.  Were like spring, heavy, sluicing downpours, which was 3 more states of also matter, besides staying when you want to go, when it’s what they do to people in the path, Eddie Haskell for example.  That really happens as you leave no doubt, thrusting people by what they read into having trees being named General so-and-so.  We know whom to “thank”.  Go it’s a redhead.  Perfect weather to fall.  Well, I’m running out of spins, but a) They drink 3,000 gallons a day, b) They look like lightning got them.  c) It might get you.  d)  Who needs a witness round 2,500?  It gets me and you if you just stand there.  Respond.  You can still make it to the car.  You just can’t quite secure the tree.  Kumquats’re debris.

Justin Bieber@justinbieber 10h10 hours ago

I’m in the studio finishing this album

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