I have little to say about a lot of things, but sometimes ya' gotta stretch the ol' tuning fork, y'know? And as ye sound out the consonants of her bosom and travel spiralling out of control, you bite the hand that would otherwise tickle yer bum.
Forecast says Sun & Rain, and thank you for watching, spend it in one place, see if i care... And where do you value the thrill on an intemperate level of discourse, my good fellow's travelling companion? Apparent to a naked eye and, merrily, her toe, the mirth of fixations camouflage the irredescent hypottimi to a libidinal degree of the 8 gone sideways.
No comments:
Post a Comment