𝗗𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗦𝘄𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘁'𝘀 𝗻𝘂𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝘀𝗰𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻-𝗴𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝘆𝗹𝗲
𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗕𝘂𝗿𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝟭𝟵𝟲𝟴: 𝗮 𝘄𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗲𝗮 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲.
𝗗𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗦𝘄𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘁'𝘀 𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘁𝘂𝗺 𝗱𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗿𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻-𝗴𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝗳
𝗰𝘂𝗻𝘁-𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗻' 𝗝𝗶𝗺 𝗡𝗮𝗯𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗱-𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝟭𝟵𝟲𝟴.

I couldn't tell what was what till you told me after sketching it on a paper towel. Now I know and I'm a better person for it. No longer will I throw bus drivers at bottles or flush toilets for nothing or eat fish on banana day.

SEVERAL WAYS TO HANDLE A MORMON WHO HAS SIX WIVES NAMED BECKY -- (1) Invite him inside for tea and ****** but instead of ****** substitute harmless cookie dough. (2) Insist on calling him Marvin even though his name is Alfred. (3) French-kiss him till he admits that having six wives named Becky is immoral.

While likening cool weather to Walt's cryogenetical brain in low degrees that discolor finger tips & toe nail beds & labial *****, I cut my 1-day ticket to confetti. The loss of a $120-chit doesn't make me less of a Venezuelan millionaire. I could sit for days watching pigeons being fried on the curb-side or scaling fish-heads at the burned-out laundromat. It's a baleful trip to the dog-ovens where dogs are baked on lower settings. Motor oil on cabbage under a bridge doesn't do much for diesel mechanics when the cops are slaughtering rebels in the streets during regulated business hours. "Down in space it's always nineteen eighty-two," sang David Bowie while Caracas smoldered a flat flight from Brixton where Jamaicans frolic because chicken is cheap and nobody's sacrificed a goat there since the E.U. folded because there's mud in their eyes and bruises on their thighs and pus on their bow ties from cutting the wrong guys as it takes all sorts of people to make a McDonald's "beef" patty. There's José & Shirley & Moses & Lenny & Curly.

If I never see you again it'll be too soon. Die monster die! Jump! There's no need to wait for rain to soften the ground and the pain. Listen to me before it's too late. Wait for the bus. It's coming. It won't be long now, realized the long-tailed cat in the roomful of rocking chairs. Well, well, well, only time will tell.

WIKI: "Agreeance" is a noun that refers to the state of being in agreement, or the act of agreeing. While it's a legitimate word, it's generally considered less common and sometimes even archaic compared to the more frequently used "agreement."

Once my brother's primary molecularity broke down, I knew the end was near. "Here, have a large hunk of cheddar cheese and you'll feel like a million bucks again," I said, even though it was evident that cheese was not the remedy to reversing the dissolving nature of his thoracic cavity.

Just after the last war, Tyrone and Bucky found a wallet stuffed with money. "We're *****-rich!" Bucky exclaimed in their forest encampment. "Not so fast," Tyrone cautioned. "My mama was *****-rich once for three weeks before a telephone pole fell on her." Bucky snarled at that and growled: "We're *****-rich! Either you accept that or all of our ***** advancements in helicopter telemetry and yaw control mean nothing!"

𝗜𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝘆 𝗔𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗹 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝘂 𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝘂𝘃𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘄𝗲
𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗪𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗹𝗲 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘁𝗼𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗮𝘀𝘁-
𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗿𝗼𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗮 𝗴𝗶𝗴𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗣𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿.

Well, the last time I saw her, her pipes were clean, her flag was down, and her ****** shields were new. Then you haven't seen her lately. I want you to look at this photograph from 1912. Here's a big ship, one that can't be sunk and here's Lester, a large man with warts. One drizzly day, immediately after a ***** riot in Fresno, the great granny of Donna Douglas "took up" (as the expression goes) with a Mexican called Pablo Moreno (Paul Brown). He was a handsome man with a large *****. Enter, Ken Smith, a ***** researcher from Ohio. It seemed inevitable that these two men should meet but they didn't. Shortly thereafter (or afterwards) the heathenistic ***** rioters sought redemption through Christ and the great granny of Donna Douglas was killed in a circus tent fire. Everything according to God's plan happened with laser-straight preciseness (or precision). Let that be a lesson to you.

I recalled many disturbingly stupid memories of yesterday as commies and pseudo-women surrounded my yacht, clawing and spewing and irritating my rash with allergens. I'll never grow peanuts for butter again since Jimmy Carter crapped out recently alone because his wife stopped breathing. She was a goodly woman, mysteriously endowed with luscious **** and a reliable lower bowel that made sailors crazy.

I'll never forget the first time I drank a glass of tap water in the woods with Jimi Hendrix. I was living in the woods with stinking, ****** hippies when a hippie poured for me a glass of municipal water. Even though I didn't see what the big deal was, I've not drank city water since. Is that Jimi Hendrix? No, it's only a rotting oak tree stump. ****!

𝗗𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗼𝗳𝗳 𝗺𝗲, 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗮 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗥𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘁'𝘀 𝗡𝗲𝘄
𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝟭𝟵𝟯𝟱'𝘀 𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻-𝗲𝗿𝗮, 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿-𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗽𝘀𝘆𝗰𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗮𝗻𝘁-𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘄𝗶𝗻,' 𝗖.𝗜.𝗔. 𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗴𝘆 𝗦𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿.

To love fully & to give big bucks to a ghetto ****; to limp steadily
on 1 good leg like a good gimp is plenty for a sick, simpering simp.