Don't bite dogs. You might have rabies. It's thong-bikini season again, WHOOPEE!!!
My pineapple's gone & large toe nail file & old rancid purple grape whilst ½ a guy can crush a ¼ guy who's in better-than-normal shape save contusion, sun blister, wrist sprain, ****** nose & knee scrape suffered at the hands of North Carolinians who fear the windy cape along a jetty where the sea recedes adjacent to the neck of the nape, 'cause it's Jane Curtin's funereal dress that over her corpse we drape to please videographers who've run out of dead bodies to videotape
“War is coming. 1941, they say...It's all going to happen. All the things you've got at the back of your mind, the things you're terrified of, the things that you tell yourself are just a nightmare or only happen in foreign countries. The bombs, the food-queues, the rubber truncheons, the barbed wire, the coloured shirts, the slogans, the enormous faces, the machine-guns squirting out of bedroom windows. It's all going to happen.” – George Orwell: "Coming Up for Air," p. 274