Jeffrey Epstein s'est révélé à travers des tabous révélateurs, sans parler des tatouages - rien de plus révélé, vilipendé, rivalisé ou grivois que de secouer de la gelée dans un bol en forme de O alors que vous montrez son shimmy de loi physique de redistribution de la masse à treize ans -une vieille fille debout dans la salle de bain de son père, simplement pour reconnaître les lois naturelles et leur héritage naturel d'actions très naturelles qu'ils n'ont naturellement aucune objection à accomplir; mais d'après son regard, votre moment d'apprentissage s'est traduit de la Physique à la Physicalité... naturellement.
Jeffrey Epsteinrevealed himself through revealing taboos, let alone tattoos--nothing more revealed, reviled, rivaled, or ribald than shaking jelly in an O-shaped bowl, as you point to its shimmy of Physics' Law of Redistribution of Mass to a thirteen-year-old girl standing in her father's bathroom, merely to acknowledge Natural Law and Natural Inheritance of very natural actions, which they naturally have no objection performing; but from her look, Jeffrey's teachable moment translated from Physics to Physicality...naturally.
represented by a density distribution g(x,y,z) δ (f(x,y,z)), where is the mass per unit area.
L'hypertrophie involontaire lors de la découverte accidentelle d'une boule de latex au sol, qui une fois gonflée devient un globe brillant, rouge, irisé dont la transformation est inattendue et remarquablement impressionnante. The unintended hypertrophyism upon the accidental discovery of a ball of latex on the ground, which when insuflated becomes a shiny, red, irridescent orb whose transformation Is unexpected and remarkably impressive.
C'est-à-dire, qu'est-ce que... vous vous demandez.
That is to say, what ... you ask yourself.
Et puis il a demandé à la fille si elle pensait que ce serait trop bizarre de manger dans la salle de bain de son père sous un grand drap avec lui.
And then he asked the girl if she thought it would be too weird to eat in her father's bathroom under a large sheet with him.
Jeffrey a terminé--métaphoriquement parlant--la fille de l'hôte, commentant avec désinvolture à son vieil ami élégant:elle est assez laide.
Jeffrey finished--metaphorically speaking--the host's daughter, commenting casually to his elegant old friend: she is quite ugly.
He then revealed his true self, by revealing it himself, but mainly by doing so as an impulsive tic to a strange teenager who now had become attentive to the initiation of at least one rocket stage jettisoning off of her corpus--and all after five minutes of meeting the man whose age was that of her father, and who was one of the many men in attendance whose attentions were focused very much on her father, while his was coming in her direction.
The party he was attending, he explained had been his second stop after work that evening, and that before this gathering he had been to visit a Chef at a nice Bistro in the 6th where he had been gifted a full bag of small fried crispy bits which he was currently carrying around with the look of someone who wants to either set them down, or throw them into the Seine.
After gently taking them from his hand, she walked directly to a large door in the back of the mansion and he could hear the gentle sucking of an impressively hefty industrial subzero refrigerator resealing itself after she had deposited the bag onto its main rack.
Ortolan, the tiny flying goose of France is beneficiary of one of the most piquant psycho-culinary taboo origin stories. One particular species of oiseau (F. small bird), whose reputation is not loaded with any unethical deeds or inhumane practices for which humans so easily accept blame for one force-feeding here, one restricted enclosure and exotic diet there (they sound decadent to humans who at first are covetous of their easy life, rich extravagant diet, enforced sedentary lifestyle, and few good months of living high on the farm, until finally the human remembers as he is cutting a portion of buttery white rosy milk flesh, that this is the sacrafice that all of us make at one time or another, sometimes voluntarily, and many times, it seems we have in fact traded places with whichever unmentionable inhumane practice it is which finds us, instead of being force-fed grain, or massaged with beer, we have instead voluntarily traded our freedom of mobility and free range living for an equivalent decision to spend a lifetime of mental and emotional alleigance to the unsatisfying group effort to produce or produce desire for something which is neither desirous, nor capable of being imbued with that quality, leaving us to pretend to do this for which other people pretend to believe our decalarations of appreciation and the difficult to quantify human sense which having substituted fear and danger of the hunt for unwise wasting of our money for something which (of which an equivalent for sustenance to a luxury item, or collectible be ascribed), and which, I believe, is one of the two (so far) pre-Homo Sapien existential crises which we all suffer, without knowing that we suffer; whose mythologized custom it is mostly arcane culinary lore, which of course, there is truth, all five times a year which it is obseqiously enjoyed by the rich man, the beggar, the murderer, or the drunk -- although, to me it more resembles my hesitancy in consuming any naturally occurring dish whose former animal it was, which was protected by leather, or armor, or multi-minuscule compartments of tedious probing with implements, or fingers, upon succesful extraction of meat whose frustrating garden of topiary and identical bushes, it is not easily or logically etiolated, but through redundant calm unthinking robotics, it is successfully finally satisfying. But for most, the unsatisfied compulsion and true enjoyment is never sated, whether repetitively eating enough crayfish, crab, turtle, chicken wings, or finally, Ortolan, but perhaps its own reward is simply putting even the most absurdly inconsequential portion of meat into your maw--the perfect metaphor for Jeffrey Epstein--and all pedophiles and their unquenchable thirst for the taboo flesh of a 13-year-old girl, of which they will say is just as unsatisfying to crack open.
He had slipped them into the kitchen in a greasy bag.
He asked the girl if she thought it would be too weird to eat them in her father's bathroom under a large sheet with him?
Jeffrey Epstein finished, metaphorically speaking, the host's daughter, and commented casually to his elegant old friend about her, saying, "She is quite ugly."
Preocupados, los dos hermanos fantasmas luchan al estilo post-greco, inexplicablemente, como luchadores mexicanos; cuyo oscuro Presagio es "Sutil como un mazo volador".
Concerned, the two ghost brothers fight post-Greek style, inexplicably, like Mexican wrestlers;whose dark omen is "Subtle as a flying mallet."
Episodic, su arte, marca indeleblemente líneas invisibles entre las dos Guerras del Mundo; respetuosamente hermanos, geográficamente bastardos - cada hermano, diferentes madres, cada hombre dos veces su padre, su sangre mutua es la sangre de dos hermanos cuya semilla era la misma pero cuyos úteros eran diferentes - uno como su madre, ambos como su padre, sofocarte de amor, luego vete y sufre.
Peace fulfilled, grace transformed; Rapture predictive Seven Seals holdin' firm in Lubbock, Lonestar.
Holed-up guest, David Koresh eponymous pronominal nickered cultists, whose Revelations es para y como los disapparecedos, no fuero, venir necessitar nada, esperar los sin las ledes escrite en grande fonto, a commitar a la cielo pero ahora en la compost, a interrementos los muertos y las senoritas hermosas con el spleen mi contrado, su bailar sextete nada.
Processiones prentarnos a gritados y umbrageas con la Burro una Senorita, un chiquita, ama todos las personnes amarnos une Donkey Not beautiful, la continente de la Norte America sud, Tijuana, mas no mas linda y las feas ciudades a las mujeres y gauchos y yankees conoceremos, pero es con muy fondlemencer que la linda mentidar la, a proxima simmer refried and larded and contented, upended, appended, todos las friended.
dormido 10 a.m., 22 de mayo de 2020
It would be remiss of me to not comment on the wicked reality both red, both breastfed de la leche fuerte sabroso que el otros y otros, los che, los hermanos, y hermanos quien amarlos ella madre reignant a los dos, las hermanos, hijas, y spectre el Dieu y mas reverential venerable mas que no otras
The great party and the last party finally decided Day of the Dead Brothers, a mixed celebration of incomparable innocence, and iniquities taking advantage at their best, or at least, some Witchcraft narco to the North in the country of the crazy wheel, whose album named Fiona Apple for him, naturally cute, less a tooth, extirpated by the inhumanity and discomfort of the secret agents of the United States, chasing the richest person in the world, who in Mexico has made the United States prefer exclusion, nothing more than drugs or nothing,
to Jamming junky yens covert veto power contributes rootless, extinct Seven Seals signatory harbingering--but toothless--he signed it, or not--then they fried it and looped it.
Peace fulfilled, grace transformed; Rapture predictive Seven Seals holdin' firm in Lubbock, Lonestar.
Holed-up guests, David Koresh eponymous pronominativ monickered cultists, whose Revelations es para y como los disapparecedos, no fuero, venir necessitar nada, esperar los sin las ledes escrite en grande fonto, a commitar a la cielo pero ahora en la compost, a interrementos los muertos y las senoritas hermosas con el spleen mi contrado, su bailar sextete nada.
Processiones prentarnos a gritados y umbrageas con la Burro una Senorita, un chiquita, ama todos las personnes amarnos une Donkey Not beautiful, la continente de la Norte America sud, Tijuana, mas no mas linda y las feas ciudades a las mujeres y gauchos y yankees conoceremos, pero es con muy fondlemencer que la linda mentidar la, a proxima simmer refried and larded and contented, upended, appended, todos las friended.
dormido 10 a.m., 22 de mayo de 2020 dormido 10 a.m., 22 de mayo de 2020 inquietud de los dos hermanos fantasmas que luchan en tributo al estilo post-Greco, inexplicablemente contada por luchadores mexicanos, cuyo presagio oscuro adivina un episodio 'sutil como un mazo volador' de contribuyentes a su arte, particular e indeleblemente marcado de la demarcación espectral invisible entre los dos guerras, estos hermanos geográficos bastardos respetablemente guerra, uno para el otro, y cada hombre, el doble de sangre mutua del otro hombre.
La gran fiesta y el último partido finalmente decidieron su Día de los Muertos Hermanos, celebración mixta de inocencia incomparable, e iniquitos aprovechando en su mejor momento, o al menos, algún narco Witchcraft al Norte en el país de la rueda loca, cuyo álbum nombró Fiona Apple para él, naturalmente lindo, menos un diente, extirpado por la inhumanidad y la incomodidad de los agentes secretos de los Estados Unidos, persiguiendo a la persona más rica del mundo, que en México ha hecho que los Estados Unidos prefieran la exclusión, nada más que más drogas o nada, para hacer girar el mundo.
asleep 10 a.m., May 22, 2020 Sería negligente de mi parte no comentar sobre los malvados.
La realidad y la naturaleza incorpórea demostrativa de este corpus, aún no considerado muerto, un prioi, ni merecido de su derecho al habeus corpus, se le otorgó una suspensión con prejuicio extremo y, en su ausencia, se volvió a juzgar donde se encontró el incumplimiento por su ignorancia del proceso.
It would be remiss of me to not comment on the wicked reality and demonstrative, incorporeal nature of this corpus, not yet dead, a prioi, nor deserved its habeus prejudiced in absencia retried, its defaultor as found guilty for lack of evidentiary ignorance and proceedings adjourned till the 9th day of February.
However unlikely their dead or aliveness from whichever outcome has unbecomingly become them, they (or is this their captors want us to believe until they are well on their way to live anonymously life on the lam), with all inherent pitfalls falling off, sally back alley on, again off again, side-saddling water, remonstrances remounts, their noble horses dappled nigrosine, nacreous and ignobly ridden, illustrious lustrous soft coat in all colors, Gianni Versace and Clint Eastwood film a Spaghetti Western, his demonically shiny magpie-eyed sister overly listlessly listing, lithe leaning lorry, lording over cocaine by the kilo, oh where do cacophonous design from her brain to her shirts go, and where was Geoffrey, oh right, getting it Greek, what an idyll sybaritic, revolting and meek, movers mainsail tails turned; it's getting hungry in here some ofay just yawned, and walked by Geoffrey head back, he fed it a prawn.
But it was rich bitch, too rich unless you knew a guy, viand de chevalier with its yellowy marbling, like Carrera's incarnate, inchoate, carnivorous viands he roasted and dined on eponymous China, vanity plates on first and last dates, their brides for the night would never eat this again and got to take home the plates, of civilized manors, his tricks seem to truc in, expansive gold tables dwarfed lux beds to fuck in, if force du majeur one might happen to be Roofies, Babania and Hydromorphone in a bottle for coughing or just in case you were shy to get off, these peacocked and loaded tendriled and frim diaphanous ladies, Diana would mourn, tendentiously scheming implausibly undeniable, at the risk of whose tranquility too proximate unlikely, but enmities presentmet revealed retributions unrivaled, apoptotic felicties promised the fiddler Rome burned, diatonic dissonant unchromatic the scales in arpeggios, glissing, over Rome's Ruins unruined -- inventing amidst the soundtrack from afar, came sounding from windows from parapets two, two pigeons uncoupling from cupolas flown, right over the Tiber they're cover was blown, birds on a wing by the way that they fly, by road, of a feather, never migrating back, they'd had it, more statues to ruin shit black.
Of dissonant dining en flagrant these courses were like calling sex with your wife sex with horses, an elephant might grow tired and never forget, but that stud needs a jockey to tell him to quit, so a smoke might not do it, might needs be cocaine.
Breathless, topless, thematique culinaire de trop villa grande vile ne seulement pas, avec Lucullus, J.
Beard, Dahmer, Donner and Childs, Esq.
sounds like a law firm whose mission statement was broke: Eat Thou Willst Above As Below Mayn't It Come Thus Again ... Thine Is What Thine Is: Gourmandes sans titre borders ET pedophiles sans morals, hebephiles sans les femmes qui prefere les femmes.
A toast to Mr.
Epstein, in whose company and magnaminity we fly.
In God we Trust and Discretion and Defer to our Wits, Unless things get Harried: Here's to Alan Dershowitz; sante, unconsciousness, defenselessness, temporary loss of recalling a thing, and Viagra, Cocaine, and those things Jeff brings en espanol, un dime a nada, no habla, no paga a disclose aborto; yo nunca habla nada cuando fue un la hija, pero mi vida mas ahora dolorous sin ustedes amigos.
maidens, prohibitively laden, chronologically, I know you're young, but when you kissed you bit me on the tongue, that tongue is now about to do to these little chicks, full grown, at least for their size, two ortolan bites, even the eyes in, for extra reveillon la gooseberry saucer succer a un straw, stultifying rocambauche badinage, frightfully revealed Capt.
Mnemonic infidelities inveigle like Lolita nympholets disgust gustatory derangement of senses anon, were malnourished from diets and starved from rejection, maternal rights denied for abandonment, cruelty, and lack affection, they would effectively sate on another insensate the cure, they all were so wrong, only some would abjure dissociate me please from this party's platter, I am not this, or if I am not the latter, and I took ingloriously my leave obsequious diminutions, blandishments to follow valitudinous, verisimilitude fulcrums warble bonfires, but none here not now on top of the pyres, no Ponzi, no Patsy, not even a witness, I revile and renounce whatever that sickness, but don't worry, unforgiving at least I am denied for a while, that playlists trending and on shuffle, repeat and redial, my intrusively fully ablated thoughts reverencing, just look what the cat dragged you and smile.
Chef reads McGuane, Dubus, AND, of course, Barry Hannah and Jim Harrison, and that poet, whose escape to the goldmine for him to write, better made he stayed despite bad weather, somehow cured by a Barolo to sip while dining, a grande vintage wine for a classical dish, both manly and extravagant, from original L'escoffiere, nothing fey, okay? This man is man all the way, and should cowboys still test him or try to molest him because he weren't born there, another Sancerre to discover filleted Sole Dover, his earnest but wide Stetson, finally he'd doff, as he smiled and fucked off, his vittles he et, horseback not hard to savvy protecting their country's Big Skies, thrown for a loop, they'll leave you when believe you just trope Harry Met Sally, old Crystal Billy, awkward and silly, the role that he played is trope all the way, there's flair in his jib that no cowboys abide, it takes one to know one, you don't have to show 'em more than a little respect; recognition to them their exalted position as the herders of cattle, the unending battle of this country's true secret and how to let's keep it, and don't the rest just shills get jockeyed and vied for the right to rule it, and would as soon plow it or destroy and kaboom it, than deal with environmentalists tied up in trees, or chained to the frame of the biggest D3s,; up to him they'd example 'em, his warning preamble and no goodbye, or so long; 'Get Her Done' Nostradamus, Quatrain quixotic, declaiming, declenching, quizzing dehydrated unflinching, unflinchingly quenching the evening program devoid.
Lady Jane of inauspicious exhibition, unnecessarily successive outlays for such laid out layabouts not scratching the surface, remarked so descending downstairs service stations for the help, and all-manual rejuvenation to Plantagenet consorts.
Queen Mother ignored the table for the top-five five-top, luxe tables de las cartes de la maison de Bourgogne-Flandre, et sous le'tues de Bourgogne de la maison de I'alois pouvoirs en France.
Consumed by its own largesse noblesse oblige, aware its true meaning beyond secret signal, issued winklingly from Lord and Lady of la Chateaux la raison to party like raucous titlists on fortnight engagement de las villes petites et ne bourgeois pas l'exhibition gauche quand tres fatigue COMPLEX ptsd a weary slightly stressful gang of flapped-out gosling fledges, road-weary, frozen and bleary, trusting spotless and plodding, artistes cartographic like sex workers, priapic, shifting voids of North stars which pass trails and remarked upon as nonviable before reembarked by the Renaissance Mountain Man of La Mancha, mixed with possibly clinical hypermanic mechanics of all things anti- not -ing, as it was lacking severely that which was leaning might worsen its feral condition by some rejection its body and brain on the proper way to hold a knife and fork and which one was for soup, escargot, as well, as the proper way to eat asparagus, and with which grip one sipped on the finest china from the Orient, Oriental tea lightly steeped and peridot perfect on a sliver of silvery sylvan service of cups saucers and books by Dante and Chaucer.
, ... By Donnor on Blitzen and the chair Santa sits in and not forgetting to introduce the sweetest of musher, that rose lit the most remarkable of all nose red Polar relative whose ability to live and thrive in its solid frozen tundra and frozen bedrock until it is that time when with the first festive tintinnabulation of those sleigh, winter garbed first human Uber and ill humored equines stead which the out to stud breed of wild Mustang and Shetland these two Nordic stalwart tillers of plodded and last minute plotted of that most arabke half-acre of yellow green and nacre fertile cultivated and cared for orphanage storehouse of Nature's most valuable and venerable perfect foodstuff before its final blighted non-GMO non noncontributing discovery of finality scientifically redundant, retried evidentially, peer reviewed incontrovertibly, valuable parcels of land humans do not yet now, but beginning to realize, as the Plague is finally released in Beta, only voluntary early-release edition peripatetic (one wonders just how, and with what money, and which 'trick' he could be up to to afford year-round, sun-chasing decadence someone diminutive never achieved from Gnomish peoples to vicariously relatable cousins, those sylphs, nymphs and nymphets, fee verts, faeries, Alabaman ghetto Leprechauns, trolls, moles gnoshing profiteroles, plotzing them in plein air in some Ricky Nelson Garden Party Bob Dylan sang in HIS, waiting for the Man who we know had been not odd, picked to finish by most intuitive crewmen, tableboy, mangerer, or PT but paid cornerman and never no one's cornermade boy, rap-fixer all who continue beset the world its picture postcards from all points globally, but yet shy braggadocio from comfortably tended loams exotic and petey, like thawed Australopithecus disinterred gormlessly no respect observed, for (not him) pique's sake, those panes she interprets -- Limousin d'abattoir -- one man's garbage, as it is, so it were, called -- la rouge de la Giaconda; all perfect boobs, good books, you and is good to fine, your group will trickle strengthening with no conjugation nor love, she loves serious music - resolute its confessor's allure unrefrained, horrific fixation, sowing loyalty their wives thrust with and without a thimbleful less than enough true devotion for me or my friendship to maintain a passive good quotient.
No music bar is short enough for your lot, nor long, nor flat nor valuable momentum,overcompensation for chaotic careers made of clay for those whose unfinished finds equitably prize, and struggled sadness live on Earth among composts which cry red-eyed love imperfect for recycled dresses, seedy, winkled abandon, me for true love, coupling, and euphoric landings where snared and rarebit rabbits dream of hops, and barleycorn barns where vision demands you respond their moon lilting, sparse and too bright the vegetate beds wakeful, flit bats soundings, those four-to-the-bar vamps, taking off on a theme riffing rags born in bordellos, banjos frail plectrums of them, for them, and them in their making, pleasant caresses, stern mulling on tuning unfamiliar, uncomplaining, clawed, plucky, not an ounce of romance to be found: Tourette string Syndrome its hula Syndrome ululate clerics round concentric whoops, hissing, belated its tic fill-up in fullborne inertia perseVERating, falls wanking to the floor, boys However unlikely their voluntary return dead or alive from whichever outcome is likely to have already become them, they (or is this what their captors have wanted us to believe until they are well on their way to live an anonymous life on the lam with all of its inherent pitfalls and falling offs, to sally forth and back, on again, off again, to sidesaddle water and remount the noble, nigrosine dappled nacreous nobility of the brave, lustrous, coarse, but soft coat in every design and color, Nature's Gianni Versace, and his demonically mysterious, shiny to a magpie, sister from Hell, moves mainsail tail in swift yellow, oleaginous, marbled carnivorous viands, on which our ancestors first dined in a civilized manor, on expansive wooden tables, only dwarfed by luxury, rarity, and its force majeur and equally diaphanous, tendentious scheme of plausible deniability, whose tranquility, its proximity, and its preternatural presentiment rival their apoptotic premium facility, promised as ever, a Fiddler's diatonic display of dissonant degustation, breadth, and thematic culinaire, for Lucullus or Beard, deferential as dime to dollar, and eaten whole, under napkins, the furtive man's supremacy reviled, taboo laden ortolan in gooseberry sauce, to the lilting strains of rocambauche conversation, later revealed as mnemonic fidelity, highly intellectual, but not so's you'd know it.
, , Chef reads McGuane, Dubus, AND, of course, Barry Hannah and Jim Harrison, and that poet, whose escape to the goldmine for him to write, better made he stayed despite bad weather, somehow cured by a Barolo to sip while dining, a grande vintage wine for a classical dish, both manly and extravagant, from original L'escoffiere, nothing fey, okay? This man is man all the way; and should cowboys still test him or try to molest him because he weren't born there, he'd order another Sancerre to discover fileted Sole Dover, his earnest but wide-brimmed Stetson, finally he'd doff, as he smiled and fucked off, his vittles he et, these docents on horseback not hard to savvy their protecting their country's Big Skies, thrown for a loop, quiet they'll leave you when they first do believe you, ain't the movie trope Harry Met Sally, old Crystal Billy, just awkward and silly, the role that he played is tropee all the way, but there's flair in his jib that no cowboys abide, it takes one to know one, you don't have to show 'em more than a little respect; recognition to them their exalted position as the herders of cattle, the unending battle of this country's true secret and how to let's keep it, and don't the rest just shills get jockeyed and vied for the right to rule it, and would as soon plow it or destroy and kaboom it, than deal with environmentalists tied up in trees, or chained to the frame of the biggest D3s,; up to him they'd example 'em, his warning preamble and no goodbye, or so long; 'Get Her Done' Nostradamus, Quatrain quixotic, declaiming, clenching, quizzing, dehydrate unflinching, quenching the evening programed, devoid Lady Jane shows of inauspicious exhibition in unnecessary successive outlays for such a laid out layout, not only scratching the surface, but markedly so, descending the exclusive downstairs servant service station after an all-manual rejuvenative to Plantagenet consorts of the queen mother's ignored table, for the top five five-top luxe tables de las cartes de la maison de Bourgogne-Flandre et sous les dues de Bourgogne de la maison de I'alois pouvoirs en France, consumed by its own largesse and noblesse oblige, and aware its true meaning beyond its inside secret signal issued winklingly from Lord and Lady of la Chateaux la raison to party like raucous lutists on a fortnight engagement de las villes petites et ne bourgeois pas l'exhibition gauche quand tres fatigue zkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk a weary slightly stressful gang of flapped-out gosling fledges, road-weary, frozen and bleary, trusting spotless and plodding, artistes cartographic like sex workers, priapic, shifting voids of North stars which pass trails and remarked upon as nonviable before reembarked by the Renaissance Mountain Man of La Mancha, mixed with possibly clinical hypermanic mechanics of all things anti- not -ing, as it was lacking severely that which was leaning might worsen its feral condition by some rejection its body and brain on the proper way to hold a knife and fork and which one was for soup, escargot, as well, as the proper way to eat asparagus, and with which grip one sipped on the finest china from the Orient, Oriental tea lightly steeped and peridot perfect on a sliver of silvery sylvan service of cups saucers and books by Dante and Chaucer.
, , ... Santa sits in and not forgetting to introduce the sweetest of musher, that rose lit the most remarkable of all nose red Polar relative whose ability to live and thrive in its solid frozen tundra and frozen bedrock until it is that time when with the first festive tintinnabulation of those sleigh, winter garbed first human Uber and ill humored equines stead which the out to stud breed of wild Mustang and Shetland these two Nordic stalwart tillers of plodded and last minute plotted of that most arabke half-acre of yellow green and nacre fertile cultivated and cared for orphanage storehouse of Nature's most valuable and venerable perfect foodstuff before its final blighted non-GMO non contributive discovery of finality scientifically proven and redundantly retried lack of evidentialry peer reviewed incontroverbile valuable parcels of land which humans do not yet now, but are now only beginning to realize as the Plague 4.0 is finally released in a Beta only voluntary early release edition of the a peripatetic (one wonders just how, and with what money, and what 'trick' he could be up to in which to afford the year-round sun-chasing decadence which someone of his diminutive statue has never before achieved from the inception of Gnomish peoples to their variogously relatable cousins, those sylpns, nymphs and nymphettes, fee verts, faeiris, Alabaman ghetto leprechauns, trolls, moles and profiteroles hiding in plein air in some Ricky Nelson, 'Garden Party,' in Bob Dylan's 'The Garden,' waiting for their Man, who we know had been picked to finish by one of his most intuitive crew, neither stableboy, mangerer, or PT, nor even corner man, money guy, rape fixer, all-fixer gnome who continues to beset the world with his holiday picture postcards from all points of the globe, always happily shy-bragging from some comfortable well-tended loam of exotic Petey bed like a warmer version of Australopithecus, committed gormlessly without benefit respect or semantics in (not him) pique's sake -- those glass panes she interprets ashamed -- the Limousin d'abattoirs -- one man's garbage, as it is called -- la rouge de la puta.
, , Boobs and bad help are decent, but really, your group will have fickle strength and no conjugation nor love, she loves serious music -- talent makes irresolute confessors allure never refrained, horrified mortification.
Showing loyalty to their wives thrusts without, and without a thimble of bland devotion or friendship.
, , No music bar is short enough for your lot, nor long, nor flat for Columbus drops valuable momentum, overcompensation for apparent chaotic careers made of clay for those who finish, find their prize, end their struggle and sadness to live on Earth among compost, instruments which cry red-eyed love seen imperfect in recycled dresses, seedy, naked, winkled saints abandon me for true love coupling and moments of escape into euphoric lands with impossible-to-snare rabbits and dreams or visions demand you respond, too much their moonlit sparsity and too bright in the vegetal embedded, wakeful bats or incoherent four-to-the-bar vamps in supernal ragtime banjo, four-to-the-bar frailing and unwieldy Goth-like steel plectrum fingertips making pleasantness not endemic, from strange turnings, unfamiliar stringing, awkward and claw-like picking, and not an ounce of romance to be found after all of that, the Tourette's Syndrome of stringed and picked whoops and tics ... or ... red insect bites from overly stern interdisciplinary concocting, childhood processed, newly cleared television studio, test kitchen experiment -- experience.
, , Morning, sadly exuberant, bitter sunlit hotlines lay unclaimed, fumid hopheads of sweet endurance, satisfyingly serviceable to youngish women in successive ever-developing sexual awakening, real-time real-life.
, , Imperfect memory leaves sense confiscated, hard away music reach heights notoriety drowns from exposure in a seven foot pool, drowned, perceived inept, unintended valid, surely erring as living experience reach crescendos rise and fall in final glowering points end-of-the-world sees the meeting equal distant triangles inside triangles, laid bare on a square, sparkwelders last 90 degree x 90 degree meeting at the 180 degree bisection, not filled with angels yet, Lord Jesus, but angles, like Thelonius or Phineas, Monk or Newborn, Jr., or maybe Bud threw them out with the old lady from deep inside his Glass Enclosure the only fit people to live there rented it from its owner, Tennessee Williams to Mr.
Bud Powell and guests {left blank} marked over it, 'haints' (uncountable ... ' forms his patent sign we perceive vehemently implies 'go' that way, not thinking it only a tool for a fool; one say that the way to go one time -- may still be the way to proceed, or the arrow points wherever the wind blows it, and that destination raised for years -- closed like the mule-end of a flying 'V' -- drink strong potation plunders energy, makes soul horses river deep, mountain high, and horses without moral terpitude to follow less saints in that number, without inclusion -- was his considered listicle representing lack of epistles.
, , amd Lord, Pray Me Home, Glory Savior! Jimi Hendrix, Kenny G and soporific folk follow theirs in autonomic diagnosis having reached antonymic apogee, wherever one finds it not hiding, but laying in wait, may this occur -- automatically, storming onamatopoeic sensibility down on the roof into the house on his head, Lord Jesus.
, , feel sciiihl'uols, ... ~ aittsiige, counter-accusation, counterargument, recrimination; cine -alitsage ... offending galvanic lapsed of meteorological eclectics, dialectic, apoptotic ravaged no immunity or cessation of intolerance, internecine and in no way condroitly systemic of Man's enimic apostolic rebuttal to life's Space Shuttle, the one breaking barriers, both sonic and light, and through them like butter lard a knife, both passing that white kid with dreams made of chrome who smoked pot on TV and got dropped on his dome.
High whitey priviledge make the young folks immune to the only God given thing which he never impugned, the common sensical device which you yourself heed, because no one can say that you have done a good deed; it's yours to exhibit, not Elon Musk to limit, Holy Ghost altitude with no Glorific interlude ... do this for me, High of preoccupation, high to the Mountain which I'm only changing the top, Lord Jesus.
Bob Moore wrote a good one with that, surely.
, , (overburdened and contextually deterministic, scientifically valid of multiplicative substitution -- its autonominative set on autoruminative in this deceptive institution, descriptive designation is Lyme disease, universalizing hyper- hypomanic egoism, including those which may require the following Baptism: Bob Dylan, Justin Bieber, Drake, DMX, John Lydon, K-Pop, and soft grunge jazz, which hopelessly takes the mythic cornetist, blowing private wares on display through nothing but some windy city's skirt-up, announcing this famous-named drunkard who syncopated, insinuated, and concatenated more about jazz in his short career, and shorter life bequeathed him, being called his fantastical nominative, was both responsible and predictive of its ill humored glycol commutative, Trix is for kids, but Bix was immortal and the Beiderbecke's planned that he blew out the angles on the Sea of Japan, ridin' high on a junk for an overnight haul, then back to South Asia for some tripes and the some jowels -- the only barn Jerusalem had no room he could fill, he would gladly sleep sitting, his head bowed deep in the bell of that shining archangel Michael's impossible swells, arpeggiacal unscalably highs, he took a Bb and sent it six octaves nigh of the celestial home where Walls could not keep him, ol' Bix drunk a gallon of mash and four legs could not sleep him, awake dog sent dog's notes up to greet him, and Michael did stir, his visage was the man the Angels came for and the same man who raised, his bugle so fast and sharp to his mouth, that the Angels did swear there was never a noise that first sent them quaking, the rubber legged boys, whose first time it was to see that which they'd oft heard, in the clouds of disquiet and dark ranging girds rose up from that horn a beauteous note which instead of the fever had the strenth of a goat, not noisome or dwelling in those lower deeds, Michael gave his words up to his doubts that in time he would forget the clangorous dins to iniquities foul and churning within, like a vocal chorus of haranguing wild dogs came the baritone's wail of the premiering fog, but through it he saw in the valley a spire to which he gathered his powers and at once did retire his last note on Heaven's great theater of God would release his soulless captor whose goodness they'd robbed, with no need of permission from neither God not Satan he blew a note through them that rocked through the ancients, the seas capsized countries and vast lands of repose, he finally was free and thank God, because it's cold.
would have to be windy and the archetype for an American city.
This Chicago, however, is not one you navigate, it is one endured as appropriate response to relative sensory stimulation.
, , Overly empathic horn arrangements, intentional but maladroitly written parts for parrots whose exhaustive omen is questionable, inventing neither new legacy, exaggerated, erred or troubleshot and secreted -- Kabbala numerology, symphonic union basic for masonic society, or Detroit's most toothless labor union's inability to banish itself from inclusion forever -- orchestras which erase baccalaureate cannonic theses, universal memories of echoic squawks, three-to-the-eight-bar sixteenth-note phrases passing in clandestine, ineffably toneless connotations, repellent of intuition, man's failure and recognized as fiendish existence.
Day, the first, his sect of disciples, doctors of musicology advantaged long local teacher whose mammary safe is her protection, his sick wife and overdeveloped daughter in their sad and doubly scourged house, decrepit fur-covered woodcuts of favorably buried sharks, taste the infirm fruitful ruined ancestor, whose hunger goes to bed starving.
And friends, it is completely voluntary, in total its members as a group, are compelled to sexually subdue and scold their bandmaster in a hazing ritual incorporating submariner dives replete with deep dives, involving -repetitive sonic torture, sleep deprivation, and subconscious complimentary praise addressing every mistake incapable of correction.
, , S Made up of children whose life in an adult world has turned into wild retribution without mercy or cessation.
Adults are: Flute and Piccolo- Jose Manuel Granda, Eva María Riesgo Clarinets: Sergio Díaz, María Antonia Madera, Javi Martín, Vanda Fialho, Remigio Valle Trombone - Salvad -s Used to form the third-person singular indicative present tense of verbs.
to eat → he eats ladies plural lady , délais.
délias, madams mesdames et laides.
All Girl Band girls got aisled deasil, ideals sailed, over the sideal, if you please.
ladies' ps.
possess a lot of plural's, some like as many men to slavishly lavish them campers full of pressies, ladies, plural of lady, deadlines -- delias.
Madame and ladies, and man, or just ugly? Little bit both, thank God it's at night, won't see, won't remember, blacked out, or go blind ... @pediapress es @fionaappleig #LadiesLadies and @mrjyn @Wikipedia pedia collaborate bookwise on #cocks and #anotherwomantowhomIwontgetthrough nuts and @chiri_hari #fetchtheboltcutters #theperfectAmerican #tpa #dougmeet avec @FionaAppleRocks par #mrjyn All girls from the All Girl Band, Utahna thought up, gone ideals sailed sideal -- side deals -- sidereal of pussy, not stars, although in many ways ... yeah.
Please, pussy, pussy pleas, sounds like that rapper who came out, go figure, Marie MCX xXX who talks a lot about pussies ... even pops lines with the p-word kinda like stew or fond, but with an umbrageous 'G' spot, not for nothin', Graffenberg found it In search of my Love I will go over mountains and strands; I will gather no flowers, I will fear no wild beasts; And pass by the mighty frontiers 'In search of my love' written, produced, directed o see each other again for one more time.
La maladie d'alzheimer: puis ma main délaisse ma crinière dorée You're running with me; Quand la psyché s'égare ma cape, Don't touch the ground Se pose sur ma jupe We're the restless hearted Not the chained and bound Mes doigts furètent, The sky is burning À la croisée de mes cuisses, A sea of flame Palpent ma carapace de cuir Thoug your world is changing I will be the same Sous laquelle sommeillent mes chairs, As a lavatory for women, via misspelling of ladies'.
Compare gents.
Pronunciation IPA(key): /ˈleɪdiz/ Audio (US) Menu 0:00 Noun ladies pl (plural only) plural of lady Coordinate terms gents, gentlemen, men, sirs Derived terms ladies and gentlemen Noun ladies (uncountable) (Britain, euphemistic) A ladies' room: a lavatory intended for use by women.
Pardon me, I need to visit the ladies.
Synonyms see Thesaurus:bathroom Coordinate terms gents, gentlemen, men, sirs men's Adjective ladies (not comparable) Intended for use by women.
Coordinate terms men's, gents See also madams, mesdames Appendix:Special uses of possessives in English Anagrams aisled, deasil, ideals, sailed, sideal French Alternative forms ladys Noun ladies plural of lady Anagrams délais, élias, laides Slave to love too silky and round at the corners, she needed something more vibey, some guy who could talk dirty, cut baitin' let's fish, she needed a screamer, she needed to feel one right down her Tunechi from the sternum the spleen called and wants its drugs back, or its youth or vermouth, or fuck, Roho's and crystal and straight up Black Jack, al silthy her toves ... The sky is definitely becomes unpleasant and rain in these projects la est le de mes chairs and needs follow Zoom Fiction could n't sleep his sailor and boy alright ideals WalMart author of Zoom Fiction trickin ' turn hot my golden mane.
Ladies plural, lady, deadlines! Delia, madam, ladies, please give warm welcome to Utahna Faith (pronominatively affiliated with the very plural -- lets hear it for our very HAPPILY Triamourou, Newly, joined on the third leg of a fore wobbly two-legged chair, now sitting pretty and firmly loving life as a TRI, Ms., Dr., Goddess of the True Lillith Society, whose Moon is in Virgo, but whose Heart is in Uranus, while breezily entrancing her heart was left, as she often used to and still has wept over sparkling Vin effervescence, what despicable low-dwelling snake did slither forth and back to catch goddess Proserpine all undone from her trusting, her lusting Spring's allure, Siannon Cure, whose Love Substitution, Alzheimer's Disease, Chelation Therapy, and coitus well-reviewsed from the Eureka Dispensary Ladies' Apothecary, Goddess Xenia Yellow Springs, Ohio, with Mr.
Dave Chappelle, to commingle her new family members into a troika, shedding old failure: two whose heart is capable of compersion aversion, which there is cure, ladies.
And tonight we are lucky, so mote it be, lady witches and non-mon poly's, to hear for the first time of a poly-utopian, houseproud, J.R.R. Tolkien, Hobbit-loving Tribute in Fiction from Fan's Love Lord of the Rings, and write Fan Fiction, and only approved by the Tolkien Estate, from which we've invited, and who happily made it, from Nyack, where not once did she face interrogation, or Morgelons, roundly dismissed by most physicians, who've sold out to the most generous Group, and taken the entire product line inducing supplements kindly come see manage to the low selfishly learned from children's type.
You have all embedded in some special forces women who divorce men, American Vets from Preowned wars, Vets from the Big One Foreign Legion with PTSD, who've brought their pets, service ...Zoom Fiction inventive, strong single mom, homeschooling, Wiccan, non monogamous and successfully autonymous, masked and anyonymous is her favorite flick, unencumbered, except by that omnipresent pendumbral light which emanates from her control and mastery in the art if open relationship, the sure strokes which provide true independence and the complete avoidance and disdain for any and every rule, more, etchic, or anything ever to be spoken from a human mouth, baddest thing from the North to come out of the South, where she, and she'll tell you herself in her address, is not, and I can also vouchsafe her sincerity, we were in bed: TONIGHT SHE WILL TELL YOU IN THE THEME OF HER ADDRESS How to never be encumbered upon by any other person, rule, law, or organized set of rules which restrict anything whatsoever, as to you, all of YOU, to Enjoy a Life without Attrition, Affiliation, Representation, either from another Body, or to any other personage or group, as to how you may or may not fit into their Demographic, in order to be happier I will Tell you HOW I AM NOT CAPABLE OF CHEATING, LYING, HOW I AM COMPLETELY FREE FROM ANYONE'S OPRROBRIUM, AS MY OWN CUSTODIAN WHOSE RIGHTS ABRIDGED SHALL NOT BE AGAIN, AND WHOM BY THESE BOLD HARDFOUGHT AND WON SOUL SEARCHING NIGHTS OF WONDERING IF I MIGHT BE OUT OF MY MIND WITH SOME KIND OF HYPOCRITICAL POWER TRIP WHICH I HAVE BEEN MERRILY UNRELENTING AND CIRCUMVENTING IN EARNEST, SINCE THE DAY I DECIDED TO BECOME MYSELF AND TO IT ONLY BEHOLDEN, THE MAKER OF MY DESTINY AND THE QUEEN OF MY CLAN, THE EL JEFE OF THE DRUGLORDS, THE MANAGER OR OWNER AT MCDONALDS, THE WOMAN IN ANY RELATIONSHIP WHATEVER THAT MEANS TO HER, WHOSE CHOICE IT IS IF SHE SAYS TO HER PARTNER UP FRONT EVEN ONLY PARTIALLY HONEST, THAT FOR HER TO BE INVOLVED HE WOULD HAVE TO AGREE AND BE AWARE, THAT MY LIFESTYLE IS NUMBER ONE, AND THAT HE MUST SUPPORT, THIS, THIS AND THIS, IN ORDER TO HAVE ME, OR AT LEAST THAT PART OF ME WHICH I DECIDE FOR HIM TO HAVE -- AND SHOULD THINGS GO BAD AND THEY WILL, JUST LOOK AT MY DAD -- I CAN CAST HIM ASIDE, NEITHER HONESTY O REASON ABIDES IN WHAT HE DON'T KNOW WON'T HURT HIM, AND IF I FUCK SOMEONE WITHOUT TELLING HIM FIRST, IT'S NOT DISHONEST, IT'S JUST VAIN OF HIM TO THINK HE IS OWED, EVEN THOUGH I MIGHT HAVE SAID IT, THIS IS ALL TO MY CREDIT, THAT ONE THING I BELIEVE AS A MAXIM OR SAYING IS TO EACH HIS/HER OWN, AND IF IT FEELS GOOD DO IT, AND I CAN'T LIE IF I DON'T HAVE TO EXPLAIN WHY I MIGHT HAVE FOR NO REASON, THE ONLY DIFFERENCE FROM ME AND MY DADDY, IS THAT HE DIDN'T TELL MY MA, BUT WE KNEW IT; SO MAYBE, AS A FORM OF PUNISHMENT TO THE MEN LIKE HIM WHO I KNOW THEY WILL TURN, I NIP THINGS IN THE BUD, AND STRIKE FIRST, LIKE A COBRA, NOT SOME BITCH ON OPRAH, AND LET THEM LEARN REAL QUICK, THAT TO MY WORD THEY MAY ALWAYS SEEK SOLACE, BUT NOT TO GET CARRIED AWAY BY THE TEDIOUS DETAILS AND CONTRACTUAL FINE PRINT OF SOME OTHER SOCIAL DISEASE MEANT TO CAUSE STRIFE AND CONSITPATION COWING WOMEN DOWNTRODDEN, DRAGGING ASS AND HAGGARDLY SODDEN, DOING MORE AND MORE AND MORE, FOR EVERYONE BUT THEM, THAT WAS BEFORE! THANK YOU.
That's the reason we're here and the reason so many have attended and the reason we welcome at the "Ladies' Gentlemen Hate but Date Third Annual Gathering Summer Soulsticer Empowerment Don't Empower Him to Hold Us Down and Make us Like It" Banquette, LitMixer, Pomme Frites Flown Belge this afternoon slathered in Mayonnaise and... the Room's Getting Hazy (off-mic: tell her my nerve pills are in the spare tire).So and, and without further ado: here from her working farm lovely Lyons with her new wife and their lovely twin Golden's, I know what kind of warm you're gonna give Utahna Faithm author of the Zoomer Classic "All Girl Band."Suddenly she felt gone, the ideals sailed on, sideal, please pussy ...have many plurals, some like so many men slavishly letting go of me, your campers full of big pressures, and their chewing gum becomes softer and warmer and more humid and floppy and spreads out like a junky needs from a law firm.
INTRO NON MON AUTHOR BANQUETTE WITH UTAHNA, FOLLOWED BY MARKHAM BURN W3C CERN SPONSORED CORPUS FROM AMPLE 3m WHOSE FOCUS THROUGH SEXUAL DENIAL DISORDER, UTAHNA FAITH, 4H GOAT HERDER, ORIGINAL NEW ORLEANS INDOCTRINATE, CODDRESCIu, AND HIS LADY PIMP, WHOSE RIBALD DISSOCIATION OF ANYTHING TRUE HAS LET HER SEND FULLTIME HOSPICE COMFORT OUR GREATEST LIVING ROMANIAN TRANSPLANT, ANDREI CODRESCUI.
WITH A SELECTION FROM HER ZOOM FICTION, NORTONALIZATION, DEDICATED TO THE FURTHERANCE OF THE ADVANCEMENT OF CLIFF'S NOTES, NOVELLAS, PROSE POEMS, EPISTOLARYS, SHORT OF POST-ITs! YOU KNOW HER, YOU LOVE HER, LET'S GREET HER AND Rub HER: MS.
UTAHNA FAITH FARMER AUTHOR HOMESCHOOL MARM WORKING FARM WITCH WHO CAN'T BE TIED DOWN WHO IS NOT ABLE TO CHEAT SINCE SHE DOESN'T ACKNOWLEDGE ANY PERSON'S CONTROL FOR HER ROCK 'N' ROLL IDOL'S MOST EASILY DISMISSED BUT NOW CLASSIC RELEASE, Exile ON main STREET, but welcome here forever, THE PRESIDENT AND FOUNDER OF THE PINTEREST PINned Clip Story Pin of the Year Prize, YOU'VE GOT ME INTERESTED IN it now TOO... All Girl Band girls (how dare she? Utahna, how could you, as this Norton picked to remember you when Zoom Fiction is done and you and its founders are sadly ensconsed in some deteriorative equally vile sounding end a few obits forward, there's the letter from this "GIRL," and she's just graduated from Wellesley and, from here it gets worser; not only did she come from poverty, but her parents were activists, there's more as pertains to this send-off whose areas of interest were the white extirpation indoctrination of Islam and Allah and Malcolm and King, and in her dorm instead of the rockers, hung up on the lockers, Emett and, well, see Mississippi State Library, Private Viewing Room, and ask Miss Lotu for a $4 dollar Co-cola and some shelled salted, she'll get you and happy to oblige, she takes one of the 39 pain pills prescribed in her purse, like these, everybody needs a little bit extra to live for it more, for doctors' ideas of bedside manners revealed what no study in the world, exploitative, vaingloriously you.
Just wanted to let you see how you were doing in our recent Words with Friends Scrabble -- *I flat beat ya especially, cunty dsssssssssssssssssssssssssss (fell asleep); he knows, so he sent in "Adoresis," and waited while Scrabble crazily made a Facebook Page, and then GAAAAAAOOOOOOoL, he scored quaint around a double word score, a triple letter he placed on point here they say, turning ecru, replays online of this one won, but not his all still quiet within myself my repose.
Are you, you, I am, l.
You wake to this and more.
... aisled deasil, ideals sailed, over the sideal, if you please.
Madame and ladies, and man, or just ugly? Little bit both, thank God it's night, won't see, won't remember, blacked out, or go blind ... p.s. possess a lot of plural's, some like as many men to slavishly lavish them campers full of pressies, ladies, plural of lady, deadlines -- delias.
All girls from the All Girl Band, Utahna thought up Marie MCX xXX talks a lot about the pussy's ... even pops the line with the p-word that's kinda like a stew or fond, but starts with an umbrageous 'G', not for nothin' Graffenberg did find it, on the Moon's Sea of Morgellon's vaginal ridge, ruffles have bumps or a knot, when found, send directly to PT while she gets her squirt on, we got a guy who grew up shelling sweet peas, now he's out his Tunechi in pussy, and he gets to massage it, while she screams and squirts on his Sybian hands, dude might be homely, but what a Come Lovin' Diviner, and with a touch unreal for words, soft, not impatient; you sure he ain't half girl -- no way, I asked him twice, and in my best flannels, that chick woulda crossed the fucking PCH TO GET HER GUM GUMMED ON IF SHE'D HAD HALF A DYKE IN HER, BUT YA SHOULDA SEEN ITS HANDS, all slender and soft with these fingerling rough callouses just where you need to be near God's Grail, when their dried up and sad, here comes Harry Reasoner, with hands lousy with fingers with callouses on 'em, you think you're gonna pee but you're gonna come like fucking horses when there's girls who can't do stuff guess who's comin' to dinner, the horses got riders, and God knows it's the calvary, all eager and mainsplainin' what you wanna do next is, so close your ears up and try to enjoy once what they do every night, know how to come quick and turn out the light, faster than you can say, lickety split, Oh, fuck I'm coming, you yell out punctuated with fountains Bellagio's calls 'em up quickly, so tourists will come in and leave twice as quick, this happy water gun just did what he told her he'd do it this summer, drain and fill the pool up like this masseuse just did for her ... there's not, for 'thanking Heaven, Maurice Chevalier, penning, singing, practicing the Chomo's jail lullabye, sung sweetly without the use of double entendre, things have gotten a little nuts with the politically correct correcting to the real Donald Trump, who needs it, done deeds it would never forgive, if he were she and she were he, he'd remember it then, but wait, he already did, and now would too, nothing to obfuscate, nothing to do, lets call this Marie up and try some of her gravy, I love anything melted up lard, hurry up Triple X, The Donald's got shotgun, dick hard like the Prime would be if they'd let him cure COVID just once, 2% interest, like his new numbers polled up, after Jar Head hit the skids and 'mandered' his 'Gerry,' like a robot on crack he, was no good in the bedroom and not great in the sack; Vanka told it, he rolled it, the shitshow stoled it's shit showed, but don't worry baby, like they say in the funnies, on Saturday morning, "see ya," they say it, just like in the funny papers' I'll see ya, meta AF and nothing to fuck up, call up that guy who starts fires and bring plenty of matches.
.... ... while their girl gum gets softer and it's time to lay my fine ass down on top of that baby blanket with cornflower for my mons girl power.
Ain't no thing be called girl, unless ya a guy, then it's time to tumble; punk ass bitch better Johnny Cash me Outside, cuz he got XL's in his pocket, next to his point, gat, and thus powder this dude ain't swingin' Dixie, but with Fred's FedEx overnight delivered, my Magic Johnson Air Jordan's, like Mike, showed Mike singin' and swingin', like Tyson when in the ring he don't dance -- fucks people's tunechi up completely, not on the stand.
Because, motherfucker taught him, HE told him he was LUKE, NOT his father, Luke -- as A white Hyundai, Big Savings lot ON 4 July SALEabration -- All-white the inside, outside LIKE A widowed, him high bothered women, till he got TO THE King, inspired BY HIS RING, He got Don to manage.
He managed to get paid, pay himself a little somethin', a little bit on the side, bonus guarantee if it turned out the weigh-in was not foregone: not my problem.
Him not wont be paid in his container, two through tight styrofoam ain't goin' nowhere, just leave off layers Rochambeau, “ro sham bo” nesting dolls talking shite, shedding weight FROM THE ASS BY THE MEAL, BY THE pound, LIKE goin' out of style.
Don pulled out rings and pulled off ears, what gold he could find, he should-a been Nazi for the stuff he found stowed, like Mike needs colateral, not a quick cross and jab -- then thwack -- library quieted, except for the host, whose money he'd laid to watch a good fight, not even well fighted it, motherfucker lay on that ring matt staring up gaping with a marvelous fracture; his Momma and Daddy, and Raptor by Spieldberg; he's gettin' chased by a lady turned into his Pops, then it gets kinda FUZZY she stuffs in her britches: a deck of cards, all Ace of Hearts, a Derringer for the , a stiletto, to eat -- jowls, stank-ass tripe, and chicken necks -- gizzards, fried up and it was then that he smelt it, like batshit crazy John McAfee's Sex Life, did it reek--coprophagicm ttwisted, she'd sit on a hammock right over his mouth where he'd ripped a hole; she'd get up a good one and ready to pinch it; he'd count that shit down, like Harry Potter at Christmas, and with 3, 2, 1, launch, you think Sally could Ride, this shit on a shingle Shuttled cuddled down onto the tip of his crap-waiting licker in back, and with a, three, two, one trips from the back of his shithole from shinola it goes back and forth like Humbert Humbert the Turddigger Graveman, and to the tip of his K9 teeth, he must have felt a hella relief -- no viruses hiding in our PCs, laptops, no noise from his brain which was hard to keep track of, they say it's acquired, John's Phagy of Copro; you could positively tell when he'd just hit his shitshow, from the swirling of glottis to touch every morsel of unmasticated Belizian dirtbombs, he'd swirl and he'd chew them and wait before swallowing, like a squirrel with his nuts who keeps them embedded like the news in Iraq, he'd roll 'em together until the congealing like magma was easy to roll up, with consistency you'd think he was James Beard sitting down at his favorite Uptown Diner, Lutece never served it but he brought his own from a source specialte de le maison de Paul Bocuse in Lyon, the world's longest consecutive fully filled out Michelin was a stellar feat of Bocuse's quoi nonparelleil, but his foisgras du merde du jour was to die for, just ask the busboy, who lost his brother from gourmandieg that way, he got thirteen days off and a bump in his pay, and he now makes the soup and modls the clay whih he plaes surrounding the coq du bresse chickens and afterwards cannot stop himself as his fingers are drippin' with the untous duck fat which the chicken is cooked, combined with the clay and the salt, it's tres simplement, but what the chef de broth don't know won't hurt him, but it kiled his brother, they say, where Chef de Cuisine du Merde de Pigalle, laughs with a glint, le merde du putain de le Montmartre Cabaret, ne pas est un chevre, o un chevalier, it's from the loo in the backc of the Sacr Couer Monks who only eat bread and le chevre in chunks, s0o when it's time for them to va a le toilet, they give dispensation to their bowels this way.am them tjie it in bows, and wrap it, and post it wherre I put it around chickens, and am proud to host it.chewing schizo-affective DSM-V Gum, Cookoo for Cocoa Puffs Fluoxetine P Cereal Disorder Breakfast, more like, my guts, I'm throwning up: I've been seasick, coifed piss, accidentally, once burned my friend Tony Millionaire's neck on purpose, with a stoagie between Bayou Gauche and Des Allemandes, past Spahrs on the way to Cajun Mardi Gras in Eunice -- after that, I felt better, but there's nothing I want lesser on my bucket list, than a Belizian Puta to shit me through a hammock, I'd rather watch Jimmy Buffet or the right Kenny G, or have everyone I think did fuck all my girlfriends 'cept me, but this was too much, this wouldn't hack it: uninstall your spyware before your shit hits the back of, the end of the middle, the throat then it's gone, now we can all say, you got shit and you're pawned, but to each his or hers own, may they prosper and God may he bless 'em, not really, I think I need to stop and go to confession.
His nose felt his throat clench up, then he saw outside that slow rollin' funk, the back side of 60 in high heels, actin' crunk, like Tyer Perry's mamma was when he was a kid, and his auntie and sista and friend lived with 'em, the Perry's weren't rich but they were funny and clean, but these FRESH offal innards from small gut intestines simmerin' on propane like tunechi lil' festerin' shit-hot for eatin not flushin' the feces, cooking the rubber out and shit that's left in it -- and when they was left, I don't know what the fuck they et, but you think they'd politely sit down and play with their food in the bowls where they lay, like someone's colonic senior dissection, some men made some noises like gettin' erections; some halfway stood up, but floated in place, they sucked on the sewerage of edible WASTE and the rapists made jokes, that's how I could tell, who was goin' to Heaven or straight down to Hell, chucklehead choking on something so foul, it a-minded me of that book called Alive, them Argentinian footballers crashed on that mountain, Donner Party Part Two, more bargains faustian, let the ass- eatin' cannibals survive in their jet, I'll be out in the snow, making a snowman before I start eatin' asscheek, nose to nose, dine out with Hannibal, Polanski, or Huxtible -- I'll take the Dr., medical, or fake -- I don't know, but those docs sure can bake.
I went to a dinner that I RSVP'd to, and fine dining it was, all formal and shining; silver showed choppers and teeth masticatin', reflectin' where I couldn't help but just catch a glimpse, and caught, the old Cannibal, erect who was watching us eat -- he had caught wood, an erection, but we tossed him outside before he could jack it, and then heard him down at the source, and, oh, what a racket ... No telling me nothing, not even politely, like Bruce Jenner and Jason, like Carey, all-nightly, Holly GOLIGHTLY ... at my own chosen speed, babe.
I'm not the one you want, not the one you need ... Who stayed in New York IN A little apartment and watched all the rich FOLKS milling around, she thought of them now because the pot which she smoked was primo Humboldt, specifically Eureka, outdoor Grow by two Navy SEALS, when one day the chopers came circlin' down, watchin', their FLIR fired up and the GPS matched, the home and its light bill, like hydroponic fixtures, they dropped over down and on top of some Mothers, who'd been sittin there quiet, just waitin' to sprout, like a 14-year-old redHEAD WITH whisker LIKE kif, NOT ON HER FACE ON HER SNATCH, THE fuckin' grunts WERE IN TRAINING AND DIDN'T GET TO TRY IT, BUT THERE'S ALWAYS NEXT TIME FOR GROW HOS WHO'RE HORNY, FROM TRIMMIN BUSHES ALL SEASON FOR A GROWER NAMED ED, WHO SITS IN HIS HOUSE WATHCIN' THE MONITORS, AND BLUIN' HIS BERELLIS, WHILE HE SITS ON HIS BED AND JUST WATCHES TELLY ... Nor stood on a beach, NOR felt peachfuzz tickle from a 30k plant, some fuckin' HUMBOATER GOT wings ON, gonna fly, when from THE Madamme ... Ladies.
ladies, ugly ladiy's ... Finalement, sur navigué libre, et le sidereal cousine, por favor, shoo shoo, nous baise un heur, mais ... leave us alone ... Le ton est à la réprimande et ne supporterait pas une réponse évasive.
Aussi, je me tais et me laisse ceindre, relevant mes cheveux pour dégager ma nuque, melungeon.
" Tu devras éviter à l'avenir de me donner des prétextes pour te punir, à moins que ce soit volontaire, petite fille ? Bien, je vais te confier à Farah qui va te conduire en salle d'eau.
Preocupados, los dos hermanos fantasmas luchan al estilo post-greco, inexplicablemente, como luchadores mexicanos; cuyo oscuro Presagio es "Sutil como un mazo volador".
Episodic, su arte, marca indeleblemente líneas invisibles entre las dos Guerras del Mundo; respetuosamente hermanos, geográficamente bastardos - cada hermano, diferentes madres, cada hombre dos veces su padre, su sangre mutua es la sangre de dos hermanos cuya semilla era la misma pero cuyos úteros eran diferentes - uno como su madre, ambos como su padre, sofocarte de amor, luego vete y sufre.
Jamming junky yens covert veto power contributes rootless, extinct Seven Seals, signatory harbingering; but toothless -- he signed it, or not, then they fried it and looped it.
Peace fulfilled, grace transformed; Rapture predictive Seven Seals holdin' firm in Lubbock, Lonestar.
Holed-up guests, David Koresh eponymous pronominativ monickered cultists, whose Revelations es para y como los disapparecedos, no fuero, venir necessitar nada, esperar los sin las ledes escrite en grande fonto, a commitar a la cielo pero ahora en la compost, a interrementos los muertos y las senoritas hermosas con el spleen mi contrado, su bailar sextete nada.
Processiones prentarnos a gritados y umbrageas con la Burro una Senorita, un chiquita, ama todos las personnes amarnos une Donkey Not beautiful, la continente de la Norte America sud, Tijuana, mas no mas linda y las feas ciudades a las mujeres y gauchos y yankees conoceremos, pero es con muy fondlemencer que la linda mentidar la, a proxima simmer refried and larded and contented, upended, appended, todos las friended.
dormido 10 a.m., 22 de mayo de 2020 It would be remiss of me to not comment on the wicked reality both red, both breastfed de la leche fuerte sabroso que el otros y otros, los che, los hermanos, y hermanos quien amarlos ella madre reignant a los dos, las hermanos, hijas, y spectre el Dieu y mas reverential venerable mas que no otras The great party and the last party finally decided their Day of the Dead Brothers, a mixed celebration of incomparable innocence, and iniquities taking advantage at their best, or at least, some Witchcraft narco to the North in the country of the crazy wheel, whose album named Fiona Apple for him, naturally cute, less a tooth, extirpated by the inhumanity and discomfort of the secret agents of the United States, chasing the richest person in the world, who in Mexico has made the United States prefer exclusion, nothing more than drugs or nothing, to Jamming junky yens covert veto power contributes rootless, extinct Seven Seals, signatory harbingering; but toothless -- he signed it, or not, then they fried it and looped it.
Peace fulfilled, grace transformed; Rapture predictive Seven Seals holdin' firm in Lubbock, Lonestar.
Holed-up guests, David Koresh eponymous pronominativ monickered cultists, whose Revelations es para y como los disapparecedos, no fuero, venir necessitar nada, esperar los sin las ledes escrite en grande fonto, a commitar a la cielo pero ahora en la compost, a interrementos los muertos y las senoritas hermosas con el spleen mi contrado, su bailar sextete nada.
Processiones prentarnos a gritados y umbrageas con la Burro una Senorita, un chiquita, ama todos las personnes amarnos une Donkey Not beautiful, la continente de la Norte America sud, Tijuana, mas no mas linda y las feas ciudades a las mujeres y gauchos y yankees conoceremos, pero es con muy fondlemencer que la linda mentidar la, a proxima simmer refried and larded and contented, upended, appended, todos las friended.
dormido 10 a.m., 22 de mayo de 2020 dormido 10 a.m., 22 de mayo de 2020 inquietud de los dos hermanos fantasmas que luchan en tributo al estilo post-Greco, inexplicablemente contada por luchadores mexicanos, cuyo presagio oscuro adivina un episodio 'sutil como un mazo volador' de contribuyentes a su arte, particular e indeleblemente marcado de la demarcación espectral invisible entre los dos guerras, estos hermanos geográficos bastardos respetablemente guerra, uno para el otro, y cada hombre, el doble de sangre mutua del otro hombre.
La gran fiesta y el último partido finalmente decidieron su Día de los Muertos Hermanos, celebración mixta de inocencia incomparable, e iniquitos aprovechando en su mejor momento, o al menos, algún narco Witchcraft al Norte en el país de la rueda loca, cuyo álbum nombró Fiona Apple para él, naturalmente lindo, menos un diente, extirpado por la inhumanidad y la incomodidad de los agentes secretos de los Estados Unidos, persiguiendo a la persona más rica del mundo, que en México ha hecho que los Estados Unidos prefieran la exclusión, nada más que más drogas o nada, para hacer girar el mundo.
asleep 10 a.m., May 22, 2020 Sería negligente de mi parte no comentar sobre los malvados.
La realidad y la naturaleza incorpórea demostrativa de este corpus, aún no considerado muerto, un prioi, ni merecido de su derecho al habeus corpus, se le otorgó una suspensión con prejuicio extremo y, en su ausencia, se volvió a juzgar donde se encontró el incumplimiento por su ignorancia del proceso.
It would be remiss of me to not comment on the wicked reality and demonstrative, incorporeal nature of this corpus, not yet dead, a prioi, nor deserved its habeus prejudiced in absencia retried, its defaultor as found guilty for lack of evidentiary ignorance and proceedings adjourned till the 9th day of February.
However unlikely their dead or aliveness from whichever outcome has unbecomingly become them, they (or is this their captors want us to believe until they are well on their way to live anonymously life on the lam), with all inherent pitfalls falling off, sally back alley on, again off again, side-saddling water, remonstrances remounts, their noble horses dappled nigrosine, nacreous and ignobly ridden, illustrious lustrous soft coat in all colors, Gianni Versace and Clint Eastwood film a Spaghetti Western, his demonically shiny magpie-eyed sister overly listlessly listing, lithe leaning lorry, lording over cocaine by the kilo, oh where do cacophonous design from her brain to her shirts go, and where was Geoffrey, oh right, getting it Greek, what an idyll sybaritic, revolting and meek, movers mainsail tails turned; it's getting hungry in here some ofay just yawned, and walked by Geoffrey head back, he fed it a prawn.
But it was rich bitch, too rich unless you knew a guy, viand de chevallier with its yellowy marbling, like Carrera's incarnate, inchoate, carnivorous viandes he roasted and dined on eponymous China, vanity plates on first and last dates, their brides for the night would never eat this again and got to take home the plates, of civilized manors, his tricks seem to truc in, expansive gold tables dwarfed luxe beds to fuck in, if force du majeur one might happen to be, there were roofies, babania and hydromorphone in a bottle for coughing or just in case you were shy to get off, these peacocked and loaded tendriled and frim diaphanous ladies, Diana would mourn, tendentiously scheming implausibly undeniable, at the risk of whose tranquility too proximate unlikely, but enmities presentimet revealed retributions unrivaled, apoptotic felicties promised the fiddler Rome burned, diatonic dissonant unchromatic the scales in arpeggios glissing over Rome's ruins unruined, inventing amidst it the soundtrack from afar, came sounding from windows from parapets two, two pigeons uncoupling from cupolas flown, right over the Tiber they're cover was blown, birds on a wing by the way that they fly, by road, of a feather, never migrating back, they'd had it, more statues to ruin shit black.
Of dissonant dining en flagrant these courses were like calling sex with your wife sex with horses, an elephant might grow tired and never forget, but that stud needs a jockey to tell him to quit, so a smoke might not do it, might needs be cocaine.
Breathless, topless, thematique culinaire de trop villa grande vile ne seulement pas, avec Lucullus, J.
Beard, Dahmer, Donner and Childs, Esq.
sounds like a law firm whose mission statement was broke: Eat Thou Willst Above As Below Mayn't It Come Thus Again ... Thine Is What Thine Is: Gourmandes sans titre borders ET pedophiles sans morals, hebephiles sans les femmes qui prefere les femmes.
A toast to Mr.
Epstein, in whose company and magnaminity we fly.
In God we Trust and Discretion and Defer to our Wits, Unless things get Harried: Here's to Alan Dershowitz; sante, unconsciousness, defenselessness, temporary loss of recalling a thing, and Viagra, Cocaine, and those things Jeff brings, y en espanol, un dime a nada, no habla, no hace un disclose aborto; yo nunca habla nada cuando fue un la hija, pero mi vida mas ahora dolorous sin ustedes amigos Eaten wholly under napkin, Man's supremacy revealed, taboos none more rivaled, reviled and congealed, like aspic in the shape of the shape of an 'O,' signifying, what? OMG? Orgasm face? or, Oops, I just came, trays Jeffrey Epstein metaphorically laid, pas jolie laide maidens, prohibitively laden, chronologically, I know you're young, but when you kissed you bit me on the tongue, that tongue is now about to do to these little chicks, full grown, at least for their size, two ortolan bites, even the eyes in, for extra reveillon la gooseberry saucer succer a un straw, stultilting rocambauche badinage, frightfully revealed Capt.
Mnemonic's ineffectual infidelities inveigling enduring, like lolita nympholets disgust gustatory derangement of senses anon, were malnourished from diets and starved from rejection, maternal rights denied for abandonment, cruelty, and lack affection, they would effectively sate on another insensate the cure, they all were so wrong, only some would abjure dissociate me please from this party's platter, I am not this, or if I am not the latter, and I took ingloriously my leave obsequious diminutions, blandishments to follow valitudinous, verisimilitude fulcrums warble bonfires, but none here not now on top of the pyres, no Ponzi, no Patsy, not even a witness, I revile and renounce whatever that sickness, but don't worry, unforgiving at least I am denied for a while, that playlists trending and on shuffle, repeat and redial, my intrusively fully ablated thoughts reverencing, just look what the cat dragged you and smile.
Chef reads McGuane, Dubus, AND, of course, Barry Hannah and Jim Harrison, and that poet, whose escape to the goldmine for him to write, better made he stayed despite bad weather, somehow cured by a Barolo to sip while dining, a grande vintage wine for a classical dish, both manly and extravagant, from original L'escoffiere, nothing fey, okay? This man is man all the way, and should cowboys still test him or try to molest him because he weren't born there, another Sancerre to discover filleted Sole Dover, his earnest but wide Stetson, finally he'd doff, as he smiled and fucked off, his vittles he et, horseback not hard to savvy protecting their country's Big Skies, thrown for a loop, they'll leave you when believe you just trope Harry Met Sally, old Crystal Billy, awkward and silly, the role that he played is trope all the way, there's flair in his jib that no cowboys abide, it takes one to know one, you don't have to show 'em more than a little respect; recognition to them their exalted position as the herders of cattle, the unending battle of this country's true secret and how to let's keep it, and don't the rest just shills get jockeyed and vied for the right to rule it, and would as soon plow it or destroy and kaboom it, than deal with environmentalists tied up in trees, or chained to the frame of the biggest D3s,; up to him they'd example 'em, his warning preamble and no goodbye, or so long; 'Get Her Done' Nostradamus, Quatrain quixotic, declaiming, declenching, quizzing dehydrated unflinching, unflinchingly quenching the evening program devoid.
Lady Jane of inauspicious exhibition, unnecessarily successive outlays for such laid out layabouts not scratching the surface, remarked so descending downstairs service stations for the help, and all-manual rejuvenation to Plantagenet consorts.
Queen Mother ignored the table for the top-five five-top, luxe tables de las cartes de la maison de Bourgogne-Flandre, et sous le'tues de Bourgogne de la maison de I'alois pouvoirs en France.
Consumed by its own largesse noblesse oblige, aware its true meaning beyond secret signal, issued winklingly from Lord and Lady of la Chateaux la raison to party like raucous titlists on fortnight engagement de las villes petites et ne bourgeois pas l'exhibition gauche quand tres fatigue COMPLEX ptsd a weary slightly stressful gang of flapped-out gosling fledges, road-weary, frozen and bleary, trusting spotless and plodding, artistes cartographic like sex workers, priapic, shifting voids of North stars which pass trails and remarked upon as nonviable before reembarked by the Renaissance Mountain Man of La Mancha, mixed with possibly clinical hypermanic mechanics of all things anti- not -ing, as it was lacking severely that which was leaning might worsen its feral condition by some rejection its body and brain on the proper way to hold a knife and fork and which one was for soup, escargot, as well, as the proper way to eat asparagus, and with which grip one sipped on the finest china from the Orient, Oriental tea lightly steeped and peridot perfect on a sliver of silvery sylvan service of cups saucers and books by Dante and Chaucer.
... By Donnor on Blitzen and the chair Santa sits in and not forgetting to introduce the sweetest of musher, that rose lit the most remarkable of all nose red Polar relative whose ability to live and thrive in its solid frozen tundra and frozen bedrock until it is that time when with the first festive tintinnabulation of those sleigh, winter garbed first human Uber and ill humored equines stead which the out to stud breed of wild Mustang and Shetland these two Nordic stalwart tillers of plodded and last minute plotted of that most arabke half-acre of yellow green and nacre fertile cultivated and cared for orphanage storehouse of Nature's most valuable and venerable perfect foodstuff before its final blighted non-GMO non noncontributing discovery of finality scientifically redundant, retried evidentially, peer reviewed incontrovertibly, valuable parcels of land humans do not yet now, but beginning to realize, as the Plague is finally released in Beta, only voluntary early-release edition peripatetic (one wonders just how, and with what money, and which 'trick' he could be up to to afford year-round, sun-chasing decadence someone diminutive never achieved from Gnomish peoples to vicariously relatable cousins, those sylphs, nymphs and nymphets, fee verts, faeries, Alabaman ghetto Leprechauns, trolls, moles gnoshing profiteroles, plotzing them in plein air in some Ricky Nelson Garden Party Bob Dylan sang in HIS, waiting for the Man who we know had been not odd, picked to finish by most intuitive crewmen, tableboy, mangerer, or PT but paid cornerman and never no one's cornermade boy, rap-fixer all who continue beset the world its picture postcards from all points globally, but yet shy braggadocio from comfortably tended loams exotic and petey, like thawed Australopithecus disinterred gormlessly no respect observed, for (not him) pique's sake, those panes she interprets -- Limousin d'abattoir -- one man's garbage, as it is, so it were, called -- la rouge de la Giaconda; all perfect boobs, good books, you and is good to fine, your group will trickle strengthening with no conjugation nor love, she loves serious music - resolute its confessor's allure unrefrained, horrific fixation, sowing loyalty their wives thrust with and without a thimbleful less than enough true devotion for me or my friendship to maintain a passive good quotient.
No music bar is short enough for your lot, nor long, nor flat nor valuable momentum,overcompensation for chaotic careers made of clay for those whose unfinished finds equitably prize, and struggled sadness live on Earth among composts which cry red-eyed love imperfect for recycled dresses, seedy, winkled abandon, me for true love, coupling, and euphoric landings where snared and rarebit rabbits dream of hops, and barleycorn barns where vision demands you respond their moon lilting, sparse and too bright the vegetate beds wakeful, flit bats soundings, those four-to-the-bar vamps, taking off on a theme riffing rags born in bordellos, banjos frail plectrums of them, for them, and them in their making, pleasant caresses, stern mulling on tuning unfamiliar, uncomplaining, clawed, plucky, not an ounce of romance to be found: Tourette string Syndrome its hula Syndrome ululate clerics round concentric whoops, hissing, belated its tic fill-up in fullborne inertia perseVERating, falls wanking to the floor, boys However unlikely their voluntary return dead or alive from whichever outcome is likely to have already become them, they (or is this what their captors have wanted us to believe until they are well on their way to live an anonymous life on the lam with all of its inherent pitfalls and falling offs, to sally forth and back, on again, off again, to sidesaddle water and remount the noble, nigrosine dappled nacreous nobility of the brave, lustrous, coarse, but soft coat in every design and color, Nature's Gianni Versace, and his demonically mysterious, shiny to a magpie, sister from Hell, moves mainsail tail in swift yellow, oleaginous, marbled carnivorous viands, on which our ancestors first dined in a civilized manor, on expansive wooden tables, only dwarfed by luxury, rarity, and its force majeur and equally diaphanous, tendentious scheme of plausible deniability, whose tranquility, its proximity, and its preternatural presentiment rival their apoptotic premium facility, promised as ever, a Fiddler's diatonic display of dissonant degustation, breadth, and thematic culinaire, for Lucullus or Beard, deferential as dime to dollar, and eaten whole, under napkins, the furtive man's supremacy reviled, taboo laden ortolan in gooseberry sauce, to the lilting strains of rocambauche conversation, later revealed as mnemonic fidelity, highly intellectual, but not so's you'd know it.
Chef reads McGuane, Dubus, AND, of course, Barry Hannah and Jim Harrison, and that poet, whose escape to the goldmine for him to write, better made he stayed despite bad weather, somehow cured by a Barolo to sip while dining, a grande vintage wine for a classical dish, both manly and extravagant, from original L'escoffiere, nothing fey, okay? This man is man all the way; and should cowboys still test him or try to molest him because he weren't born there, he'd order another Sancerre to discover fileted Sole Dover, his earnest but wide-brimmed Stetson, finally he'd doff, as he smiled and fucked off, his vittles he et, these docents on horseback not hard to savvy their protecting their country's Big Skies, thrown for a loop, quiet they'll leave you when they first do believe you, ain't the movie trope Harry Met Sally, old Crystal Billy, just awkward and silly, the role that he played is tropee all the way, but there's flair in his jib that no cowboys abide, it takes one to know one, you don't have to show 'em more than a little respect; recognition to them their exalted position as the herders of cattle, the unending battle of this country's true secret and how to let's keep it, and don't the rest just shills get jockeyed and vied for the right to rule it, and would as soon plow it or destroy and kaboom it, than deal with environmentalists tied up in trees, or chained to the frame of the biggest D3s,; up to him they'd example 'em, his warning preamble and no goodbye, or so long; 'Get Her Done' Nostradamus, Quatrain quixotic, declaiming, clenching, quizzing, dehydrate unflinching, quenching the evening programed, devoid Lady Jane shows of inauspicious exhibition in unnecessary successive outlays for such a laid out layout, not only scratching the surface, but markedly so, descending the exclusive downstairs servant service station after an all-manual rejuvenative to Plantagenet consorts of the queen mother's ignored table, for the top five five-top luxe tables de las cartes de la maison de Bourgogne-Flandre et sous les dues de Bourgogne de la maison de I'alois pouvoirs en France, consumed by its own largesse and noblesse oblige, and aware its true meaning beyond its inside secret signal issued winklingly from Lord and Lady of la Chateaux la raison to party like raucous lutists on a fortnight engagement de las villes petites et ne bourgeois pas l'exhibition gauche quand tres fatigue a weary slightly stressful gang of flapped-out gosling fledges, road-weary, frozen and bleary, trusting spotless and plodding, artistes cartographic like sex workers, priapic, shifting voids of North stars which pass trails and remarked upon as nonviable before reembarked by the Renaissance Mountain Man of La Mancha, mixed with possibly clinical hypermanic mechanics of all things anti- not -ing, as it was lacking severely that which was leaning might worsen its feral condition by some rejection its body and brain on the proper way to hold a knife and fork and which one was for soup, escargot, as well, as the proper way to eat asparagus, and with which grip one sipped on the finest china from the Orient, Oriental tea lightly steeped and peridot perfect on a sliver of silvery sylvan service of cups saucers and books by Dante and Chaucer.
, Sentences: , , Demographic, in order to be happier I will Tell you HOW I AM NOT CAPABLE OF CHEATING, LYING, HOW I AM COMPLETELY FREE FROM ANYONE'S OPRROBRIUM, AS MY OWN CUSTODIAN WHOSE RIGHTS ABRIDGED SHALL NOT BE AGAIN, AND WHOM BY THESE BOLD HARDFOUGHT AND WON SOUL SEARCHING NIGHTS OF WONDERING IF I MIGHT BE OUT OF MY MIND WITH SOME KIND OF HYPOCRITICAL POWER TRIP WHICH I HAVE BEEN MERRILY UNRELENTING AND CIRCUMVENTING IN EARNEST, SINCE THE DAY I DECIDED TO BECOME MYSELF AND TO IT ONLY BEHOLDEN, THE MAKER OF MY DESTINY AND THE QUEEN OF MY CLAN, THE EL JEFE OF THE DRUGLORDS, THE MANAGER OR OWNER AT MCDONALDS, THE WOMAN IN ANY RELATIONSHIP WHATEVER THAT MEANS TO HER, WHOSE CHOICE IT IS IF SHE SAYS TO HER PARTNER UP FRONT EVEN ONLY PARTIALLY HONEST, THAT FOR HER TO BE INVOLVED HE WOULD HAVE TO AGREE AND BE AWARE, THAT MY LIFESTYLE IS NUMBER ONE, AND THAT HE MUST SUPPORT, THIS, THIS AND THIS, IN ORDER TO HAVE ME, OR AT LEAST THAT PART OF ME WHICH I DECIDE FOR HIM TO HAVE -- AND SHOULD THINGS GO BAD AND THEY WILL, JUST LOOK AT MY DAD -- I CAN CAST HIM ASIDE, NEITHER HONESTY O REASON ABIDES IN WHAT HE DON'T KNOW WON'T HURT HIM, AND IF I FUCK SOMEONE WITHOUT TELLING HIM FIRST, IT'S NOT DISHONEST, IT'S JUST VAIN OF HIM TO THINK HE IS OWED, EVEN THOUGH I MIGHT HAVE SAID IT, THIS IS ALL TO MY CREDIT, THAT ONE THING I BELIEVE AS A MAXIM OR SAYING IS TO EACH HIS/HER OWN, AND IF IT FEELS GOOD DO IT, AND I CAN'T LIE IF I DON'T HAVE TO EXPLAIN WHY I MIGHT HAVE FOR NO REASON, THE ONLY DIFFERENCE FROM ME AND MY DADDY, IS THAT HE DIDN'T TELL MY MA, BUT WE KNEW IT; SO MAYBE, AS A FORM OF PUNISHMENT TO THE MEN LIKE HIM WHO I KNOW THEY WILL TURN, I NIP THINGS IN THE BUD, AND STRIKE FIRST, LIKE A COBRA, NOT SOME BITCH ON OPRAH, AND LET THEM LEARN REAL QUICK, THAT TO MY WORD THEY MAY ALWAYS SEEK SOLACE, BUT NOT TO GET CARRIED AWAY BY THE TEDIOUS DETAILS AND CONTRACTUAL FINE PRINT OF SOME OTHER SOCIAL DISEASE MEANT TO CAUSE STRIFE AND CONSITPATION COWING WOMEN DOWNTRODDEN, DRAGGING ASS AND HAGGARDLY SODDEN, DOING MORE AND MORE AND MORE, FOR EVERYONE BUT THEM, THAT WAS BEFORE! THANK YOU.
, , , #2NE1 #투애니원 #안녕 2NE1 - '안녕 ... Santa sits in and not forgetting to introduce the sweetest of musher, that rose lit the most remarkable of all nose red Polar relative whose ability to live and thrive in its solid frozen tundra and frozen bedrock until it is that time when with the first festive tintinnabulation of those sleigh, winter garbed first human Uber and ill humored equines stead which the out to stud breed of wild Mustang and Shetland these two Nordic stalwart tillers of plodded and last minute plotted of that most arabke half-acre of yellow green and nacre fertile cultivated and cared for orphanage storehouse of Nature's most valuable and venerable perfect foodstuff before its final blighted non-GMO non contributive discovery of finality scientifically proven and redundantly retried lack of evidentialry peer reviewed incontroverbile valuable parcels of land which humans do not yet now, but are now only beginning to realize as the Plague 4.0 is finally released in a Beta only voluntary early release edition of the a peripatetic (one wonders just how, and with what money, and what 'trick' he could be up to in which to afford the year-round sun-chasing decadence which someone of his diminutive statue has never before achieved from the inception of Gnomish peoples to their variogously relatable cousins, those sylpns, nymphs and nymphettes, fee verts, faeiris, Alabaman ghetto leprechauns, trolls, moles and profiteroles hiding in plein air in some Ricky Nelson Garden Party in Bob Dylan's The Garden, waiting for their Man, who we know had been with not bad odds picked to finish by one of his most intuitive crew, neither stableboy, mangerer, or PT, nor even corner man, money guy, rape fixer, all-fixer Gnome who continues to beset the world with his holiday picture postcards from all points of the globe, always happily shy-bragging from some comfortable well-tended loam of exotic Petey bed like a warmer version of Australopithecus, committed gormlessly without benefit respect or semantics in (not him) pique's sake -- those glass panes she interprets ashamed -- the Limousin d'abattoirs -- one man's garbage, as it is called -- la rouge de la puta.
Boobs and bad help are decent, but really, your group will have fickle strength and no conjugation nor love, she loves serious music -- talent makes irresolute confessors allure never refrained, horrified mortification.
Showing loyalty to their wives thrusts without, and without a thimble of bland devotion or friendship.
No music bar is short enough for your lot, nor long, nor flat for Columbus drops valuable momentum, overcompensation for apparent chaotic careers made of clay for those who finish, find their prize, end their struggle and sadness to live on Earth among compost, instruments which cry red-eyed love seen imperfect in recycled dresses, seedy, naked, winkled saints abandon me for true love coupling and moments of escape into euphoric lands with impossible-to-snare rabbits and dreams or visions demand you respond, too much their moonlit sparsity and too bright in the vegetal embedded, wakeful bats or incoherent four-to-the-bar vamps in supernal ragtime banjo, four-to-the-bar frailing and unwieldy Goth-like steel plectrum fingertips making pleasantness not endemic, from strange turnings, unfamiliar stringing, awkward and claw-like picking, and not an ounce of romance to be found after all of that, the Tourette's Syndrome of stringed and picked whoops and tics ... or ... red insect bites from overly stern interdisciplinary concocting, childhood processed, newly cleared television studio, test kitchen experiment -- experience.
Morning, sadly exuberant, bitter sunlit hotlines lay unclaimed, fumid hopheads of sweet endurance, satisfyingly serviceable to youngish women in successive ever-developing sexual awakening, real-time real-life.
Imperfect memory leaves sense confiscated, hard away music reach heights notoriety drowns from exposure in a seven foot pool, drowned, perceived inept, unintended valid, surely erring as living experience reach crescendos rise and fall in final glowering points end-of-the-world sees the meeting equal distant triangles inside triangles, laid bare on a square, sparkwelders last 90 degree x 90 degree meeting at the 180 degree bisection, not filled with angels yet, Lord Jesus, but angles, like Thelonius or Phineas, Monk or Newborn, Jr., or maybe Bud threw them out with the old lady from deep inside his Glass Enclosure the only fit people to live there rented it from its owner, Tennessee Williams to Mr.
Bud Powell and guests {left blank} marked over it, 'haints' (uncountable ... ' forms his patent sign we perceive vehemently implies 'go' that way, not thinking it only a tool for a fool; one say that the way to go one time -- may still be the way to proceed, or the arrow points wherever the wind blows it, and that destination raised for years -- closed like the mule-end of a flying 'V' -- drink strong potation plunders energy, makes soul horses river deep, mountain high, and horses without moral terpitude to follow less saints in that number, without inclusion -- was his considered listicle representing lack of epistles.
amd Lord, Pray Me Home, Glory Savior! Jimi Hendrix, Kenny G and soporific folk follow theirs in autonomic diagnosis having reached antonymic apogee, wherever one finds it not hiding, but laying in wait, may this occur -- automatically, storming onamatopoeic sensibility down on the roof into the house on his head, Lord Jesus.
feel sciiihl'uols, ... ~ aittsiige, counter-accusation, counterargument, recrimination; cine -alitsage ... offending galvanic lapsed of meteorological eclectics, dialectic, apoptotic ravaged no immunity or cessation of intolerance, internecine and in no way condroitly systemic of Man's enimic apostolic rebuttal to life's Space Shuttle, the one breaking barriers, both sonic and light, and through them like butter lard a knife, both passing that white kid with dreams made of chrome who smoked pot on TV and got dropped on his dome.
High whitey priviledge make the young folks immune to the only God given thing which he never impugned, the common sensical device which you yourself heed, because no one can say that you have done a good deed; it's yours to exhibit, not Elon Musk to limit, Holy Ghost altitude with no Glorific interlude ... do this for me, High of preoccupation, high to the Mountain which I'm only changing the top, Lord Jesus.
Bob Moore wrote a good one with that, surely.
(overburdened and contextually deterministic, scientifically valid of multiplicative substitution -- its autonominative set on autoruminative in this deceptive institution, descriptive designation is Lyme disease, universalizing hyper- hypomanic egoism, including those which may require the following Baptism: Bob Dylan, Justin Bieber, Drake, DMX, John Lydon, K-Pop, and soft grunge jazz, which hopelessly takes the mythic cornetist, blowing private wares on display through nothing but some windy city's skirt-up, announcing this famous-named drunkard who syncopated, insinuated, and concatenated more about jazz in his short career, and shorter life bequeathed him, being called his fantastical nominative, was both responsible and predictive of its ill humored glycol commutative, Trix is for kids, but Bix was immortal and the Beiderbecke's planned that he blew out the angles on the Sea of Japan, ridin' high on a junk for an overnight haul, then back to South Asia for some tripes and the some jowels -- the only barn Jerusalem had no room he could fill, he would gladly sleep sitting, his head bowed deep in the bell of that shining archangel Michael's impossible swells, arpeggiacal unscalably highs, he took a Bb and sent it six octaves nigh of the celestial home where Walls could not keep him, ol' Bix drunk a gallon of mash and four legs could not sleep him, awake dog sent dog's notes up to greet him, and Michael did stir, his visage was the man the Angels came for and the same man who raised, his bugle so fast and sharp to his mouth, that the Angels did swear there was never a noise that first sent them quaking, the rubber legged boys, whose first time it was to see that which they'd oft heard, in the clouds of disquiet and dark ranging girds rose up from that horn a beauteous note which instead of the fever had the strenth of a goat, not noisome or dwelling in those lower deeds, Michael gave his words up to his doubts that in time he would forget the clangorous dins to iniquities foul and churning within, like a vocal chorus of haranguing wild dogs came the baritone's wail of the premiering fog, but through it he saw in the valley a spire to which he gathered his powers and at once did retire his last note on Heaven's great theater of God would release his soulless captor whose goodness they'd robbed, with no need of permission from neither God not Satan he blew a note through them that rocked through the ancients, the seas capsized countries and vast lands of repose, he finally was free and thank God, because it's cold.
would have to be windy and the archetype for an American city.
This Chicago, however, is not one you navigate, it is one endured as appropriate response to relative sensory stimulation.
Overly empathic horn arrangements, intentional but maladroitly written parts for parrots whose exhaustive omen is questionable, inventing neither new legacy, exaggerated, erred or troubleshot and secreted -- Kabbala numerology, symphonic union basic for masonic society, or Detroit's most toothless labor union's inability to banish itself from inclusion forever -- orchestras which erase baccalaureate cannonic theses, universal memories of echoic squawks, three-to-the-eight-bar sixteenth-note phrases passing in clandestine, ineffably toneless connotations, repellent of intuition, man's failure and recognized as fiendish existence.
Day, the first, his sect of disciples, doctors of musicology advantaged long local teacher whose mammary safe is her protection, his sick wife and overdeveloped daughter in their sad and doubly scourged house, decrepit fur-covered woodcuts of favorably buried sharks, taste the infirm fruitful ruined ancestor, whose hunger goes to bed starving.
And friends, it is completely voluntary, in total its members as a group, are compelled to sexually subdue and scold their bandmaster in a hazing ritual incorporating submariner dives replete with deep dives, involving -repetitive sonic torture, sleep deprivation, and subconscious complimentary praise addressing every mistake incapable of correction.
Made up of children whose life in an adult world has turned into wild retribution without mercy or cessation.
Adults are: Flute and Piccolo- Jose Manuel Granda, Eva María Riesgo Clarinets: Sergio Díaz, María Antonia Madera, Javi Martín, Vanda Fialho, Remigio Valle Trombone - Salvad -s Used to form the third-person singular indicative present tense of verbs.
to eat → he eats ladies plural lady , délais.
délias, madams mesdames et laides.
All Girl Band girls got aisled deasil, ideals sailed, over the sideal, if you please.
ladies' ps.
possess a lot of plural's, some like as many men to slavishly lavish them campers full of pressies, ladies, plural of lady, deadlines -- delias.
Madame and ladies, and man, or just ugly? Little bit both, thank God it's at night, won't see, won't remember, blacked out, or go blind ... @pediapress es @fionaappleig #LadiesLadies and @mrjyn @Wikipedia pedia collaborate bookwise on #cocks and #anotherwomantowhomIwontgetthrough nuts and @chiri_hari #fetchtheboltcutters #theperfectAmerican #tpa #dougmeet avec @FionaAppleRocks par #mrjyn All girls from the All Girl Band, Utahna thought up, gone ideals sailed sideal -- side deals -- sidereal of pussy, not stars, although in many ways ... yeah.
Please, pussy, pussy pleas, sounds like that rapper who came out, go figure, Marie MCX xXX who talks a lot about pussies ... even pops lines with the p-word kinda like stew or fond, but with an umbrageous 'G' spot, not for nothin', Graffenberg found it In search of my Love I will go over mountains and strands; I will gather no flowers, I will fear no wild beasts; And pass by the mighty frontiers 'In search of my love' written, produced, directed o see each other again for one more time.
La maladie d'alzheimer: puis ma main délaisse ma crinière dorée You're running with me; Quand la psyché s'égare ma cape, Don't touch the ground Se pose sur ma jupe We're the restless hearted Not the chained and bound Mes doigts furètent, The sky is burning À la croisée de mes cuisses, A sea of flame Palpent ma carapace de cuir Thoug your world is changing I will be the same Sous laquelle sommeillent mes chairs, As a lavatory for women, via misspelling of ladies'.
Compare gents.
Pronunciation IPA(key): /ˈleɪdiz/ Audio (US) Menu 0:00 Noun ladies pl (plural only) plural of lady Coordinate terms gents, gentlemen, men, sirs Derived terms ladies and gentlemen Noun ladies (uncountable) (Britain, euphemistic) A ladies' room: a lavatory intended for use by women.
Pardon me, I need to visit the ladies.
Synonyms see Thesaurus:bathroom Coordinate terms gents, gentlemen, men, sirs men's Adjective ladies (not comparable) Intended for use by women.
Coordinate terms men's, gents See also madams, mesdames Appendix:Special uses of possessives in English Anagrams aisled, deasil, ideals, sailed, sideal French Alternative forms ladys Noun ladies plural of lady Anagrams délais, élias, laides Slave to love too silky and round at the corners, she needed something more vibey, some guy who could talk dirty, cut baitin' let's fish, she needed a screamer, she needed to feel one right down her Tunechi from the sternum the spleen called and wants its drugs back, or its youth or vermouth, or fuck, Roho's and crystal and straight up Black Jack, al silthy her toves ... The sky is definitely becomes unpleasant and rain in these projects la est le de mes chairs and needs follow Zoom Fiction could n't sleep his sailor and boy alright ideals WalMart author of Zoom Fiction trickin ' turn hot my golden mane.
Ladies plural, lady, deadlines! Delia, madam, ladies, please give warm welcome to Utahna Faith (pronominatively affiliated with the very plural -- lets hear it for our very HAPPILY Triamourou, Newly, joined on the third leg of a fore wobbly two-legged chair, now sitting pretty and firmly loving life as a TRI, Ms., Dr., Goddess of the True Lillith Society, whose Moon is in Virgo, but whose Heart is in Uranus, while breezily entrancing her heart was left, as she often used to and still has wept over sparkling Vin effervescence, what despicable low-dwelling snake did slither forth and back to catch goddess Proserpine all undone from her trusting, her lusting Spring's allure, Siannon Cure, whose Love Substitution, Alzheimer's Disease, Chelation Therapy, and coitus well-reviewsed from the Eureka Dispensary Ladies' Apothecary, Goddess Xenia Yellow Springs, Ohio, with Mr.
Dave Chappelle, to commingle her new family members into a troika, shedding old failure: two whose heart is capable of compersion aversion, which there is cure, ladies.
And tonight we are lucky, so mote it be, lady witches and non-mon poly's, to hear for the first time of a poly-utopian, houseproud, J.R.R. Tolkien, Hobbit-loving Tribute in Fiction from Fan's Love Lord of the Rings, and write Fan Fiction, and only approved by the Tolkien Estate, from which we've invited, and who happily made it, from Nyack, where not once did she face interrogation, or Morgelons, roundly dismissed by most physicians, who've sold out to the most generous Group, and taken the entire product line inducing supplements kindly come see manage to the low selfishly learned from children's type.
You have all embedded in some special forces women who divorce men, American Vets from Preowned wars, Vets from the Big One Foreign Legion with PTSD, who've brought their pets, service ...Zoom Fiction inventive, strong single mom, homeschooling, Wiccan, non monogamous and successfully autonymous, masked and anyonymous is her favorite flick, unencumbered, except by that omnipresent pendumbral light which emanates from her control and mastery in the art if open relationship, the sure strokes which provide true independence and the complete avoidance and disdain for any and every rule, more, etchic, or anything ever to be spoken from a human mouth, baddest thing from the North to come out of the South, where she, and she'll tell you herself in her address, is not, and I can also vouchsafe her sincerity, we were in bed: TONIGHT SHE WILL TELL YOU IN THE THEME OF HER ADDRESS How to never be encumbered upon by any other person, rule, law, or organized set of rules which restrict anything whatsoever, as to you, all of YOU, to Enjoy a Life without Attrition, Affiliation, Representation, either from another Body, or to any other personage or group, as to how you may or may not fit into their That's the reason we're here and the reason so many have attended and the reason we welcome at the "Ladies' Gentlemen Hate but Date Third Annual Gathering Summer Soulsticer Empowerment Don't Empower Him to Hold Us Down and Make us Like It" Banquette, LitMixer, Pomme Frites Flown Belge this afternoon slathered in Mayonnaise and... the Room's Getting Hazy (off-mic: tell her my nerve pills are in the spare tire).So and, and without further ado: here from her working farm lovely Lyons with her new wife and their lovely twin Golden's, I know what kind of warm you're gonna give Utahna Faithm author of the Zoomer Classic "All Girl Band."Suddenly she felt gone, the ideals sailed on, sideal, please pussy ...have many plurals, some like so many men slavishly letting go of me, your campers full of big pressures, and their chewing gum becomes softer and warmer and more humid and floppy and spreads out like a junky needs from a law firm.
INTRO NON MON AUTHOR BANQUETTE WITH UTAHNA, FOLLOWED BY MARKHAM BURN W3C CERN SPONSORED CORPUS FROM AMPLE 3m WHOSE FOCUS THROUGH SEXUAL DENIAL DISORDER, UTAHNA FAITH, 4H GOAT HERDER, ORIGINAL NEW ORLEANS INDOCTRINATE, CODDRESCIu, AND HIS LADY PIMP, WHOSE RIBALD DISSOCIATION OF ANYTHING TRUE HAS LET HER SEND FULLTIME HOSPICE COMFORT OUR GREATEST LIVING ROMANIAN TRANSPLANT, ANDREI CODRESCUI.
WITH A SELECTION FROM HER ZOOM FICTION, NORTONALIZATION, DEDICATED TO THE FURTHERANCE OF THE ADVANCEMENT OF CLIFF'S NOTES, NOVELLAS, PROSE POEMS, EPISTOLARYS, SHORT OF POST-ITs! YOU KNOW HER, YOU LOVE HER, LET'S GREET HER AND Rub HER: MS.
UTAHNA FAITH FARMER AUTHOR HOMESCHOOL MARM WORKING FARM WITCH WHO CAN'T BE TIED DOWN WHO IS NOT ABLE TO CHEAT SINCE SHE DOESN'T ACKNOWLEDGE ANY PERSON'S CONTROL FOR HER ROCK 'N' ROLL IDOL'S MOST EASILY DISMISSED BUT NOW CLASSIC RELEASE, Exile ON main STREET, but welcome here forever, THE PRESIDENT AND FOUNDER OF THE PINTEREST PINned Clip Story Pin of the Year Prize, YOU'VE GOT ME INTERESTED IN it now TOO... All Girl Band girls (how dare she? Utahna, how could you, as this Norton picked to remember you when Zoom Fiction is done and you and its founders are sadly ensconsed in some deteriorative equally vile sounding end a few obits forward, there's the letter from this "GIRL," and she's just graduated from Wellesley and, from here it gets worser; not only did she come from poverty, but her parents were activists, there's more as pertains to this send-off whose areas of interest were the white extirpation indoctrination of Islam and Allah and Malcolm and King, and in her dorm instead of the rockers, hung up on the lockers, Emett and, well, see Mississippi State Library, Private Viewing Room, and ask Miss Lotu for a $4 dollar Co-cola and some shelled salted, she'll get you and happy to oblige, she takes one of the 39 pain pills prescribed in her purse, like these, everybody needs a little bit extra to live for it more, for doctors' ideas of bedside manners revealed what no study in the world, exploitative, vaingloriously you.
Just wanted to let you see how you were doing in our recent Words with Friends Scrabble -- *I flat beat ya especially, cunty dsssssssssssssssssssssssssss (fell asleep); he knows, so he sent in "Adoresis," and waited while Scrabble crazily made a Facebook Page, and then GAAAAAAOOOOOOoL, he scored quaint around a double word score, a triple letter he placed on point here they say, turning ecru, replays online of this one won, but not his all still quiet within myself my repose.
Are you, you, I am, l.
You wake to this and more.
... aisled deasil, ideals sailed, over the sideal, if you please.
Madame and ladies, and man, or just ugly? Little bit both, thank God it's night, won't see, won't remember, blacked out, or go blind ... p.s. possess a lot of plural's, some like as many men to slavishly lavish them campers full of pressies, ladies, plural of lady, deadlines -- delias.
All girls from the All Girl Band, Utahna thought up Marie MCX xXX talks a lot about the pussy's ... even pops the line with the p-word that's kinda like a stew or fond, but starts with an umbrageous 'G', not for nothin' Graffenberg did find it, on the Moon's Sea of Morgellon's vaginal ridge, ruffles have bumps or a knot, when found, send directly to PT while she gets her squirt on, we got a guy who grew up shelling sweet peas, now he's out his Tunechi in pussy, and he gets to massage it, while she screams and squirts on his Sybian hands, dude might be homely, but what a Come Lovin' Diviner, and with a touch unreal for words, soft, not impatient; you sure he ain't half girl -- no way, I asked him twice, and in my best flannels, that chick woulda crossed the fucking PCH TO GET HER GUM GUMMED ON IF SHE'D HAD HALF A DYKE IN HER, BUT YA SHOULDA SEEN ITS HANDS, all slender and soft with these fingerling rough callouses just where you need to be near God's Grail, when their dried up and sad, here comes Harry Reasoner, with hands lousy with fingers with callouses on 'em, you think you're gonna pee but you're gonna come like fucking horses when there's girls who can't do stuff guess who's comin' to dinner, the horses got riders, and God knows it's the calvary, all eager and mainsplainin' what you wanna do next is, so close your ears up and try to enjoy once what they do every night, know how to come quick and turn out the light, faster than you can say, lickety split, Oh, fuck I'm coming, you yell out punctuated with fountains Bellagio's calls 'em up quickly, so tourists will come in and leave twice as quick, this happy water gun just did what he told her he'd do it this summer, drain and fill the pool up like this masseuse just did for her ... there's not, for 'thanking Heaven, Maurice Chevalier, penning, singing, practicing the Chomo's jail lullabye, sung sweetly without the use of double entendre, things have gotten a little nuts with the politically correct correcting to the real Donald Trump, who needs it, done deeds it would never forgive, if he were she and she were he, he'd remember it then, but wait, he already did, and now would too, nothing to obfuscate, nothing to do, lets call this Marie up and try some of her gravy, I love anything melted up lard, hurry up Triple X, The Donald's got shotgun, dick hard like the Prime would be if they'd let him cure COVID just once, 2% interest, like his new numbers polled up, after Jar Head hit the skids and 'mandered' his 'Gerry,' like a robot on crack he, was no good in the bedroom and not great in the sack; Vanka told it, he rolled it, the shitshow stoled it's shit showed, but don't worry baby, like they say in the funnies, on Saturday morning, "see ya," they say it, just like in the funny papers' I'll see ya, meta AF and nothing to fuck up, call up that guy who starts fires and bring plenty of matches.
.... ... while their girl gum gets softer and it's time to lay my fine ass down on top of that baby blanket with cornflower for my mons girl power.
Ain't no thing be called girl, unless ya a guy, then it's time to tumble; punk ass bitch better Johnny Cash me Outside, cuz he got XL's in his pocket, next to his point, gat, and thus powder this dude ain't swingin' Dixie, but with Fred's FedEx overnight delivered, my Magic Johnson Air Jordan's, like Mike, showed Mike singin' and swingin', like Tyson when in the ring he don't dance -- fucks people's tunechi up completely, not on the stand.
Because, motherfucker taught him, HE told him he was LUKE, NOT his father, Luke -- as A white Hyundai, Big Savings lot ON 4 July SALEabration -- All-white the inside, outside LIKE A widowed, him high bothered women, till he got TO THE King, inspired BY HIS RING, He got Don to manage.
He managed to get paid, pay himself a little somethin', a little bit on the side, bonus guarantee if it turned out the weigh-in was not foregone: not my problem.
Him not wont be paid in his container, two through tight styrofoam ain't goin' nowhere, just leave off layers Rochambeau, “ro sham bo” nesting dolls talking shite, shedding weight FROM THE ASS BY THE MEAL, BY THE pound, LIKE goin' out of style.
Don pulled out rings and pulled off ears, what gold he could find, he should-a been Nazi for the stuff he found stowed, like Mike needs colateral, not a quick cross and jab -- then thwack -- library quieted, except for the host, whose money he'd laid to watch a good fight, not even well fighted it, motherfucker lay on that ring mat staring up gaping with a marvelous fracture, his Momma and Daddy, and Raptors by Spieldberg, he's gettin' chased by a lady turned into his Pops, then she got kinda fuZZy and she started to drop, all the stuff in her britches, ace hearts, derringer gun, Italian stiletto and jowls, stank-ass tripe, chicken necks, gizzards, fried up and he smelt it, like batshit John McAfee's sex life did reek, coprophagic and twisted, she'd sit on a hammock right over his mouth where he'd ripped a hole; she'd get up a good one and ready to pinch it; he'd count that shit down, like Harry Potter at Christmas, and with 3, 2, 1, launch, you think Sally could Ride, this shit on a shingle Shuttled cuddled down onto the tip of his crap-waiting licker in back, and with a, three, two, one trips from the back of his shithole from shinola it goes back and forth like Humbert Humbert the Turddigger Graveman, and to the tip of his K9 teeth, he must have felt a hella relief -- no viruses hiding in our PCs, laptops, no noise from his brain which was hard to keep track of, they say it's acquired, John's Phagy of Copro; you could positively tell when he'd just hit his shitshow, from the swirling of glottis to touch every morsel of unmasticated Belizian dirtbombs, he'd swirl and he'd chew them and wait before swallowing, like a squirrel with his nuts who keeps them embedded like the news in Iraq, he'd roll 'em together until the congealing like magma was easy to roll up, with consistency that way, you'd think he was James Beard sitting down at his favorite Uptown Diner, Lutece never served it but he brought his own from a source specialte de le maison de Paul Bocuse in Lyon, the world's longest consecutive fully filled out Michelin was a stellar feat of Bocuse's quoi nonparelleil, but his foisgras du merde du jour was to die for, just ask the busboy, who lost his brother from gourmandieg that way, he got thirteen days off and a bump in his pay, and he now makes the soup and modls the clay whih he plaes surrounding the coq du bresse chickens and afterwards cannot stop himself as his fingers are drippin' with the untous duck fat which the chicken is cooked, combined with the clay and the salt, it's tres simplement, but what the chef de broth don't know won't hurt him, but it kiled his brother, they say, where Chef de Cuisine du Merde de Pigalle, laughs with a glint, le merde du putain de le Montmartre Cabaret, ne pas est un chevre, o un chevalier, it's from the loo in the backc of the Sacr Couer Monks who only eat bread and le chevre in chunks, s0o when it's time for them to va a le toilet, they give dispensation to their bowels this way.
am them tjie it in bows and wrap it and post it, wherre I put it around chickens, and am proud to host it.
was chewing, usually schizo-affective DSM-V stuff, cookoo for Cocoa Puffs cereal, more like up my guts out I'm throwning: I've bee seasick, drank piss accidentally once, burned my friend's neck with cigar after that one felt better, but there's nothing I want less on my bucket list, than a Belizian whore to shit me through a hammock, I'd rather watch Jimmy Buffet or the right Kenny G, or have everyone I think did fuck all my girlfriends 'cept me, but this was too much, this wouldn't hack it: uninstall your spyware before your shit hits the back of, the end of the middle, the throat then it's gone, now we can all say, you got shit and you're pawned, but to each his or hers own, may they prosper and God may he bless 'em, not really, I think I need to stop and go to confession.
His nose felt his throat clench up, then he saw it outside that slow roiling funk, the back side of 60 in high heels actin' crunk, like Tyer Perry's mamma was when he was a kid, and his auntie and sista and friend lived with 'em, the Perry's weren't rich but they were funny and clean, but these FRESH offal innards from small gut intestines simmerin' on propane like tunechi lil' festerin' shit-hot for eatin not flushin' the feces, cooking the rubber out and shit that's left in it -- and when they was left, I don't know what the fuck they et, but you think they'd politely sit down and play with their food in the bowls where they lay, like someone's colonic senior dissection, some men made some noises like gettin' erections; some halfway stood up, but floated in place, they sucked on the sewerage of edible WASTE and the rapists made jokes, that's how I could tell, who was goin' to Heaven or straight down to Hell, chucklehead choking on something so foul, it a-minded me of that book called Alive, them Argentinian footballers crashed on that mountain, Donner Party Part Two, more bargains faustian, let the ass- eatin' cannibals survive in their jet, I'll be out in the snow, making a snowman before I start eatin' asscheek, nose to nose, dine out with Hannibal, Polanski or Huxtible, I'll take the Dr., medical or fake, I don't know but those docs sure could bake.
I went to a dinner that I RSVP'd to, and fine dining it was, all formal and shining; silver showed choppers and teeth masticatin', reflectin' where I couldn't help but just catch a glimpse, and caught, the old Cannibal erect who was watching us eat -- he had caught wood, an erection, but we tossed him outside before he could jack it, and then we heard him go down to the source and, oh, what a racket ... No telling me nothing, not even to stop; I ran out politely like Bruce Jenner and Jason, like Carey, all-nightly, Holly GOLIGHTLY ... at my own chosen speed, babe.
I'm not the one you want, not the one you need ... who stayed in New York IN her little apartment, and watched all the rich FOLKS milling around, then she thought of some more beause the pot that she smoked was primo from Humboldt, specifically Eureka, from an outdoor Grow grown by two Navy SEALS, when one day the chopers came circlin' down, watchin', their FLIR fired up and the GPS matched, the home and its light bill, like hydroponic fixtures, they dropped over down and on top of some Mothers, who'd been sittin there quiet, just waitin' to sprout, like a 14-year-old redHEAD WITH whisker LIKE kif, NOT ON HER FACE ON HER SNATCH, THE fuckin' grunts WERE IN TRAINING AND DIDN'T GET TO TRY IT, BUT THERE'S ALWAYS NEXT TIME FOR GROW HOS WHO'RE HORNY, FROM TRIMMIN BUSHES ALL SEASON FOR A GROWER NAMED ED, WHO SITS IN HIS HOUSE WATHCIN' THE MONITORS, AND BLUIN' HIS BERELLIS, WHILE HE SITS ON HIS BED AND JUST WATCHES TELLY ... Nor stood on a beach, NOR felt peachfuzz tickle from a 30k plant, some fuckin' HUMBOATER GOT wings ON, gonna fly, when from THE Madamme ... Ladies.
ladies, ugly ladiy's ... Finalement, sur navigué libre, et le sidereal cousine, por favor, shoo shoo, nous baise un heur, mais ... leave us alone ... Le ton est à la réprimande et ne supporterait pas une réponse évasive.
Aussi, je me tais et me laisse ceindre, relevant mes cheveux pour dégager ma nuque, melungeon.
" Tu devras éviter à l'avenir de me donner des prétextes pour te punir, à moins que ce soit volontaire, petite fille ? Bien, je vais te confier à Farah qui va te conduire en salle d'eau