Cotton has a plantation, It’s home in central Texas. It might be your cremation. Don’t drive up in your Lexus.
In the barn he persecutes. Devices of mad torture. Chainsaws, meat hook executes, Diced and spilt into quarters.
The Bloodbath we fascinate, Victims face he has gotten. Oh my, he does dominate. ****** face here’s some Cotten.
This was based on my trip to Florida last week because I’m convinced Waze wanted to **** us. It took down this back Texas road that looked like Leatherfaces home. It’s done in Ae Freislighe, an Irish Quatrain.
the preliminaries hellos I ask him how he is the portable phone, not great he insists two days of indigestion trapped wind “I'm farting all the time” I laugh “it's a worrying sign” he insists “I've had cancer twice.” I elect to treat the matter as a joke with levity no one ever died of broken wind I don't think But Ron wants medical attention some kinna tests wants money spent some kinna probe maybe a machine with noises like a robot a digital read-out. When they call “Mr Hilton” Chelsea & Westminster A&E; ask what he's been eating “Are you keeping regular meals?” Ron mentions cancer Dr Pasek laughs something stirs in my intestine.