Thursday, October 4, 2012

God Save Donald Duck


He died of a stroke in a warden closing loss to voice. Then nature filled. We tell in Obama language, then try again in Romney. This is the hay, a coarse refund because the need is day. The boy of seven clutching his own and then, it is a night of army following. And the debating habit cuffs the born dream. We rent the taste for victory, as a class action sweat. It means the closing spell wrote many days. You were left without the banjo. We had the seven year old. It was a time of time.

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