...𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬
Wherever I goes this is about the length of Maltese noses. If I hated
you more along the surf-tide of a Pacific-coast fizz you'd chalk it up
to Biblic points revealing an Occidentalized Lost-Sea-Scroll gnosis.

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚­📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚­­📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚­📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

☑ ☑ ☑ ☑ ☑ ☑ ☑
⚀ ⚁ ⚂ ⚃ ⚄ ⚅
First thing first. DESTROY & ANNIHILATE!
...oh, that's 2 things.

Born in October 1956, Janet Aimee Stephenson started out as a model and actress before moving into film-making. Do you have the 1980 Roxy Music album 𝑭𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 in your collection? The nearer of the two girls is Aimee Stephenson. In the 1980's Aimee and her boyfriend Tim Jackson (producer of Dead Dog Blues) worked in the States on some Roger Corman productions although I don’t know which ones. In 1991 they teamed up with a guy called Sean Manchester who had written a non-fiction book about the so-called "Highgate Vampire." The plan was to make a documentary, and possibly a narrative feature film, about the subject but it never came to anything for various reasons.

In 2001 Aimee and Tim were in Peru, researching a book. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗹 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗱. 𝗔𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘂𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝟰𝟴% 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲, 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀, 𝗹𝗲𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘀𝗼. 𝗧𝗶𝗺 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝟭𝟳 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗯𝗮𝗱𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱. 𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝘂𝘃𝗶𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝘂𝘃𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗺𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲. 𝗔 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘂𝗽 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗱𝗿𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗿 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗮 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗹. 𝗔𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲, 𝗔𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 (𝘃𝗶𝗮 𝗦𝘄𝗶𝘁𝘇𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱) 𝘁𝗼 𝗦𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗯𝘂𝗿𝘆 – 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆. I can’t imagine the pain she must have gone through, or what Tim Jackson and her other friends and family must have suffered watching her agony.

- Posted by M.J. Simpson

Ch. 1 : “Of course I don't like war, but Mexico is asking for it...”
My left knee hurt and I knew that I'd need left-knee surgery when I returned to the palace. Fortunately my mother, who is the queen of England, wasn't home so I hung my ****** on the throne to air out. It was just 2 minutes later when the red phone rang: “Mexico has dropped a couple of nuclear H-bombs on Pakistan.”; “*******!” I exclaimed. I immediately contacted central command. “This is the prince of England! I want 70,000 soldiers dispatched to Mexico right now!!!”; “Yes sir!” Said the guy on the other end.

Ch. 2 : Cindy's *** puckered like a strangled duck unused to French bread dough. “Did you order the attack on Mexico?” She asked.
   “Yes I did Cindy. As prince of England I see it as my duty.”
   “I love you,” Cindy said, “more than I love God.”
   “Thanks Cindy, but I'm not God, I'm only the prince of England.”

Ch. 3 : “Royal Duties Beyond the Horizon”
My attack on Mexico saved billions of lives in Pakistan and the king of Pakistan knew it. He called me as soon as he could.
   “Please your royal, highly-worshiped Prince of England,” he began, “accept the gratitude of the people of Pakistan for what you have done to save them from being killed by Mexicans.”
   “You're welcome,” I said. “I was simply doing my job as prince of England. Let's pray that Mexico has learned her lesson.”

Ch. 4 : “Mexico Apologizes”
It didn't take long for el presidente de Mexico to see the error of his ways. In a letter sent to me from the president's house in Mexico City, the president wrote: Dear Prince of England: I'm so sorry for dropping a couple of  nuclear H-bombs on Pakistan the other day. I don't know why I did it. I promise Sir Royal Prince of England that I won't ever do it again. Please forgive me. I am really sorry.  ~ Sincerely, the president of Mexico

Ch. 5 : “Apology Accepted”
As the prince of England I know that nobody's perfect, not even the president of Mexico. I accepted his apology on behalf of the people of Pakistan whom the president of Mexico had dropped a couple of  nuclear H-bombs on several days before.

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A DIVINE MIRACLE OF AVIATION IN OLD NEW YORK CITY - Tim Browne flew his mighty airplane directly into the Empire State Building at 400-miles-per-hour. “Is everyone alright?!” He asked as wreckage was still hitting the pavement. “We're okay back here!” A young woman yelled from the rear. “I've never felt better!” Another passenger reported. “That's odd,” Tim said to his pretty girlfriend at his side. “I thought that crashing directly into the top floor of a very huge building at 400-miles-per-hour would surely have killed us all, considering the mega-extreme impact!” Later, it was determined by the federal aviation inspectors that Tim was pretty lucky to be alive 'cause crashing a plane at that deadly speed always kills everybody!

CRAZY TAMMY CHEATS ON GORDON
"Oh Gordon," Tammy began, "I thought you were deeply in love with me? The way you painted my house; lifted my fat sister high above your head; punched my mother to make her stop breathing and then punched her again to make her start."
   Gordon looked astonished and amazingly **** with his long ***** and urbane mannerisms. "I'm going away Tammy to a *****-shortening clinic in another country."
   "Oh no Gordy! Please don't have your ***** shortened! I love it so much. It brings such comfort to me," Tammy sobbed while her medium-big ******* hardened like crazy.
   "Listen Tammy: my ***** is too long. Admit it. Two weeks ago a woman with a hairy crotch threatened me with birth-control pills for ten minutes. Ten minutes!"
   Tammy turned away ashamed. "That was me Gordy. I was wearing a fake crotch wig to fool you."
   Gordon chuckled at that. "Here," he said while offering his ***** to her selflessly, "take my *****. Grip it firmly. I promise that I won't have it shortened."
   That August Tammy had a baby who was so black that Gordon suspected that she'd been ******* Negroes and he was right.

The thirteenth greatest idea ever in modern tattoo history is eye-ball tattooing!

Your tattoos show people that you are tattooed.

It's cheaper, and less painful, to have your tattoos moved rather than removed. I had 7 inner thigh tattoos moved to my *** and I've never looked back.

January 14th is Brothers' Day, a day to celebrate brotherhood with your brother, but since I only have a half-brother (same mother, different father) we can only celebrate for 12 hours.

Today I scrubbed bird **** off my windshield, tomorrow I've got experimental, post-mortem brain surgery to perform on my uncle.

Throughout the series Joe Mannix was shot a dozen times and knocked out 55 times.

I want to scarf ripe bananas before driving to Negara with the sexiest chick in Jembrana.

I knew you before the exploratory surgery that you had 5 years ago in Lichenstein when your rib cracked after the train hit you hard head-on. I thought you were dead till I saw your large ***** move ever so slightly like a small dog on a train or under a larger dog.

2 lesbians who didn't know the meaning of "Stop it because it's against the law!" stumbled down the dusty road hand-in-hand to meet Jesus because they were dead tired. "There He is!" Martha exclaimed. "I don't see Him!" Jan responded. Tragically later, Jan's baby (conceived by secret lesbian impregnation methods) would grow up to look more like Hillary Clinton than was normal for a child who wasn't exposed to major radioactive impurities. "I'm tired and my lesbian parts are killing me," Martha stated like she was the queen of forever. "Soon we'll be at Motel 6 enjoying the treasures of our lifestyle," Jan whispered while her chafed thighs bled spottily like 6 employees of Dairy Queen in a car wreck.

SLAY THE MONARCH & THE PROGRAM whilst ***** smokes
shadows upon walls indebting ***** to plucky seven vinegar strokes
I see no point projecting unlaid, lay-about chicks from routine coax
of Kabuki theater flim-flamming quackery that's a penny-ante hoax
wrecked banjaxed on grimy floors sudsed-in crap in which it soaks
I'll never see Cleveland alive as Mother is making it with some fly
whose stolen Detroit dives to hell under ***** bucks who are high
on fed cheese that is curdled & matured on the Chinese ****** lie
broadcasted across seas placid by radio hoo-hoo below half-life sky
tenting fortified wines blended with hops, barley and mildewed rye
in bath tubs devoid of naked wenches morally-wonked and gun-shy
working the angles on de-lousing Camden: old New Jersey's pig sty
because the sight of immorally-uncivil plans blind the Lutheran eye
Subhan Allah, David & Goliath, Samson & Delilah must wilt & die
as cities ***** & Gomorrah substituted fruit cake for pumpkin pie
legions of sodomites patrolled all alleyways as curfews didn't apply
when crusaders knighted moralistes Chrétiens were in short supply
& negroids unarmed had no choice in whitey nations but to comply
'cause guns over butter win the body-count, nobody alive can deny,
while prisoners without tongues are so stuck-up, they will not reply
till they overcome their dispositions as amputees tongue-tied & shy
about swift kicks to those Chaz Bono regions that cause men to cry
in an ionospheric register that shouldn't emanate from a normal dye
except in incorporated Amìr̃kà where each prison fry cook must fry
or suffer the fate that ruined commanding lieutenant William Bligh
whose sympathy was such that he'd have done better not to even try
tasteless breadfruit diplomacy upon a sweaty-palmed Christian guy
as it was a tipsy, get-go endeavor like herding cats & feeding slaves
or burying a whacked **** in any of Idaho's tourist-attracting caves
opposite a funky monument to governor Butch Otter making waves
without his buck teeth, quaffing ****** from barrels lacking staves
to enshrine an ape-scraped pate or picnicker's litany of close shaves
from the living, dying by demi-godlike, semi-doctors' clots & raves
in the bowels of the A.M.A. & the C.D.C. for Luciferian conclaves
while suppressing experiences of saving at Equibank in olden days
before gay Pittsburgh was inundated with homosexual lesbian gays
who imbibed ****-soaked chicory quenchers on pap-smeared trays

I saw a baby at Walmart in the baby section in a baby stroller laughing and carrying on like babies do so I tell the mother and she's like "So what?" and I'm like "I was just sayin'" and she's like "I bet you can't even have a baby!" and I'm like "Here's my cell number" and she's like "I don't wanna call you" and I'm like "That's my prison cell number. I just escaped!"

On Mount Washington proto-Pittsburghers were drunk on Iron City Beer. Negroes laughed at them and made funny faces like they were in Africa. Rocks were thrown and windows were smashed into a million sherds. Large women who looked like Rosie O'Donnell knelt before a statue of Fred Pittsburgh (Pittsburgh's founder) and threw up slimy chunks of cottage cheese. It was sickening.

Wiener King & Muzzle Man died today in a vat of butter at the butter dairy where Maria Hopkins lived under her desk in office six. Nobody with an ounce of oleo could've shaved either of them 'cause their beards were tangled. Love's one thing, not the only thing.