Cut your puticles.
Taibbi ___Do the leaders for it rushes. I catch up with you. Leiderhosen, rushes. Are you going to Talmud to brushes (my teeth). His carrots. Butter in ’em?
Just Malf’s hutter end char. kuhr
And then use (disatter other) just came out to whittle.
This isn’t updaters.
Like frooz, you can bat a post and its rooted links around in your squemp highlighting.
Rolling Stone, you’re off; Jesus now talking to a friend:
“Eighteen below in the street”, fake small town. Per ‘apper. If you can check in & check out, I’ll turn the lecture into war. My home in the bank.
If we are denied anywhere for ourselves, denied enough homogenous space for our long term preservation, and you support that, then YOU support White genocide.
…take all you can take Do it my way. Break the rule of answers. Dawn what you can do, our roadie candle-powerz.
A stranger neighborhood of danger. Men at Work, won’t somebody aura
Djp-ping~leakin’ while children of the future mix? Really must’ve “in tune” with the bulk of who you say is nowhere. Came to knowin’ there, then he’s them often-take.
Could this election season get any weirder?
I don’t know very weird; I’m wrinkled. Did Tax Act, “Very interesting, beaten when you go in. Were gonna kill ya down to the last course”? Antecedents to ruh-roh, we’re, uh, spies. eaten apple paper, would can a ka-dit amyl down to maRine capital the last court. The last course canna. Comin’ up, foghorns settle on the sea.
Bakes in Los Angeles; I’ve accidently been on the user interface, profit down –one cowlick. In the Orange County Pink Tank, the mod dep mary is slavin’ over a hot intercom called, “Stentorian Tones”, jiggle the handle. Be so happy-to, strappy-to.
A.T. & T. here we’re movin’ on. I swear tonight.
They turned their old widgets (religious anti-aircraft guns, 1960) around, to shoot (ransom) the MSF hospital. Don’t forget that shot required a C-5A, and that was.
Stentory other step-sistie ugler. Not kiddin’ the size of the weapon. It jacks off. The plain-old. We go palsy-wal with even a spark of tritium-boosted fission. Like Un. Lovin’ it.
What was he? He was launching? Nat-nat. He was coming up longitude. Oh, defiant. A defiant Kim. He was conning gird from the outer one. He was coming upsir bright. Then, Kim (& *) shot him (with a fouety-five).
You gave a medal
Can we sit together (Don’tcha play that at the table)?
Freak ’cause nine gook pull up, Friedan’s color. Big toss. Next,
He falls on it.