Thursday, July 29, 2010

Michael Jordan is Fat, Mr Stallone

FIRST

Axl Rose takes the dynamite and runs to the bridge. Snake isn’t happy, hats are not allowed. Suddenly, Yeti appears. The bridge must fall: narrative has been invoked. We will not let our clients down®. Then Axl Rose tremendously. Yeti. It is not a justified Steve Carell movie but a populist pilsner taste, like you could believe the Internet on this one. Rays of damage prop up the worst poets, who have been settling for marks on their cards. Those cards, Pirandello: Who was Sancho Panza? Axl ties up reticence and believes he will find last year. The bridge stands for statue, and we never mentioned opulence as a radical trace in flimsy maunder stage. Gorse, heather, tramps ramping toward the gust of purple flowering in Bruce Willis slid across the table of, not Schwarzenegger, banter like sluice.

Less Expansion and Contraction

The start of truck stop panoply secured torrent in possible misplay. The muse sweats Lindsay Lohan's terms, which include wow factored to. Barn Door. You listening truck stop where pancakes are segments of society? Prison changes a person… How far is it from the beach?

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

The Landslide Took Place

Dads are great tho typical. Flickering clouds tell dads that flowers fill rumpus. We want rumpus in the US alone. We fill plastic bottles with water and say rumpus means clocks. Clocks track dad with events. Moms too. We all have moms and dads, and the dust never clears.

The Brackish Waters of Rhinebeck

Dawn includes something drifting, like continent. Dawn invents a vestment, cooling breeze, studded clouds with the effect of reaction. A federal opportunity mentions Chelsea Clinton, her wings, the barn she left, the vantage of the brushfire she will marry in triplicate. The caring public snorts with optimal cumulous. Organic reaction stops rainfall at the threshold, starting with the Bill of Rights and moving on to other damp documents. Rain will provide a forest so that Bill and Hillary can install a map on the plain features of dirt. Chelsea will spring to mind with every Joni Mitchell song played till stopgap, then the lank Republican buddy system will trim morass and moraine from budget-minded challenge. We will have to repair the ocean soon.

A Nicer Night

Dick Morris reveals how to prepare for coming aftershock! His stuffed pillow is a kraken. Rental closure plans Chelsea Clinton’s wedding (it is in a pricey ditch). A watery tone poem thrust into conversation transforms the regal stopgap. Now we intend to explore how yachts make the man, if the man is John Kerry. A pin fell into a well.

Stockyards explode with great prisms of sweat. Dick Morris is a sample of the plausible program pulled thru a hole in a 12 dollar bill. Captain Phil is a marginal ransom, asking price of launching. Now that the president sucks wasting day, we can go to ‘town’. Town is inference nestled between two frantic polis. Your child, then, explains fathers to mothers.

And Dick Morris is not even flame resistant, just fetched upon quasar seeming. The poem flaps less truly now, excavated with a list of words.

Those Jerks in the iPhone Commercial

There is a poem presented in glass form, chills of summer. A whisper of father and mother makes increment, glistering patois. Shades of Apache clouds cling to New England willow. People are not panicles, no matter how planted. Last thought is first thought.