KrangkaDelic

Twas a gassy Lassie that met Classy Freddie Blassie in late September that year The moon was high, and Freddie gasped 'Oh my!' when he smelled something uncannily queer Now that dogs' anus was unduly famous for raising up quite the stench But not being ready the fumes soon hit Freddie leaving his thirst for airborne faecal particles thoroughly quenched. "oh my word, my nose is disturbed, by poo-fumes produced by a dog" and saying no more Freddie left through the door: alone, enhanced: The Demagogue

John Updike has had enough tripe - give him some shoulder cuts, just like D.H. Lawrence loves.

turns out the hotdogs were eating them this whole time?

I like my Justice non-soggy and I've a partner named Foggy; I'm DareDevil: The Saviour Man

Premature freeholdings are met with the coolest of vibe-jibes now that Roland is sat behind the furrybump.

Back Street Boys, I know I know ... bad BOYS of pop right? Well check this out - The Mac Street Boys - are the true bad BOTS of Pop.

Like I told Mommy - GET ON THIS SHIT!!!!

Helligion, more like.

Ride on: Foaming NInja. The sky is dark, but you're a ninja.

I hear he hides it up his wookie ass-vagina

If two can do, but one can create fun, why the fuck have I got six of them under my pubic beard?

Lo! and behold my new stranglehold - I call it the Nickel-Tickle; though that's subject to change as I'm nominally fickle.

Swinging from the trees - spitting diatribes with ease - I give to you ... the Harangue-gutan

Jaded scrimshaw falls from Fathers' outstretched palm, the sea captains' beard glistens in the rain. Stooping down in the sea breeze you pick up the scrimshaw. This is what every Monday should feel like.

The square root of this catchphrases' dick is having your mothers' guts for lunch.

My chief belief belies public slander - my Commander-in-briefs just spat milk from out his salamander

do it. and let the english see you do it.

Small, the singled ladies ... it's like I tell my bros: dumpy hoes simply don't get chose.

Why's it always got to be a last chance power-drive with you Bruce? Can't we just, you know, uber?

Your day winds up threaded by the persistence of doubt. Screw that, buddy - Phillips's head said to jump and shout!

Who's gonn'a rock and roll with me tonight? When I'm hot-wired on my patio - I'm open to suggestions. Fleshy suggestions.

radio song

Apathy's' shards strewn by her toes, she validates parking - and whoa boy! it shows.

Were-hipsters. That is all.