Simple Theories

Impressed with the maintenance of ephebes, whole squadrons of overweight bees bounce into the beyond. Radiant stakes of assholes on drugs, full-featured praxis of the dying sun institute, combine with very exacting bitties. A telephone booth could be a clue, but so could the wet sun's reflection. This is stupid, words should be clear like diamonds and their friends. Assholes as a nation refuse to reject. Tata buys a hen peck, yet whirling stop gaps result in history. People are plainly confined. Never mind what the commissioner said, it is the natural progression.

The air bled trapdoors as we reminded ourselves of courtesy. The testate glandular function of approval leads on the mosey beast. Politics is a hamster, clearly painted with nautilus stripes. Republicans deal with gluten sensitivity while Democrats eat stockade. And gulag doodles as Democrats do. The final failing grade dooms adequate emission. Night is a closing finale made of lobster pots and casket paint. To deem requires a buttery note in the fluid notation. Trucks are still possible, even as the rain sputters to halt.