Thursday, November 15, 2012

Something Pants

Deliverance is a canticle made of pants and dresses, assayers now say. We float in impressive popping sounds as racism flowers for tremendous Glenn Beck. It’s his birthday: he’s now yesterday underwater, with sweaty aroma. Nota bene: he’s also a romantic puddle. Meanwhile, this horrible poet woman, partly training further dog sleds of Republican what, she says she rhymes with any detergent undertaking. Where’s the money, bitch? The better types of racism show a forthright quality vis-à-vis Glenn Beck’s Olympian asshole. Might be the appropriate synod, mutter the long end of nothing special. Language needs some looming, scant, and collective, not the dray horse expanse of our down time. We have been privy to potholes, walking down the long vocal damage of something versus something multiplied by stupid makes my ghost.

Pants are universal.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Mitt Romney’s Failed Orca

Linguistic modulation conveyed by Karl Rove beaches whales at a flat rate. You read that in the papers, sweating for coming days when review of tax liabilities would be clearer. We weren’t pleasant harvest at all times, including that incessant beating of drum lords timing us carefully.

Religious application goes like this: bold cannon shot flies over the rails, mean as pox. The slamming continues with few rewards except that a colourful blood shows a communal touch. Those are not safe tunes.

Meanwhile, just Yeti on the slopes of Himalaya. What do stretches of snow on sandstone mean, currently, a place betting wind? Taking a deep breath with several words as companions, Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez break up with a humanizing touch, critics say.