Fine English blood lines the cube. Full Germanic envelope, scattered Northish. Germany current exists with various switches and tooting but not when roving bands of dna were examining latent excuses for life in a particle of home clear birth canal. We can all say OH, to emphasize the human involvement with an inexplicable. Start with dynamic. The great racist reasoning procures results. Home work like truck, surety, political abandon. English then, an elaborate protocol prior to draining T S Eliot and filming the natural result. Once drained, he will vinify with the flies. The flies will smell like cheese, cheese like dna. A slow start will announce the end of slow starts, like Eliot said, but the cheese will remain vital and worthy of knowing the featured racist name.An imperfect result of the perfect result will compare.
The aliens merged with diastrophism. A rush thru the funnel with Dick Cheney prompts a reply, don't you think? The mud of his glance places real time constancy in jeopardy. We really roll with the punches, tho Cheney's eyes tend to ignite squids. His armpits repine with a patient whoosh that smells like blueberries, eternal boundfulness of Dick Cheney brain. In the meantime, like river flocks, we steal a porch. The utter eye jets of the alien enterprise writes an interregnum. We knit a scarf called socialism, which appears on tv as the gravelly person on that show every night. Cheney hams it up. Secondly, dream manifests in the sunlessness of rectilinear retreat, the storm of space. Driven noises suffuse patents. Claims of Obama become structure. Ideas receive graves. Back in the future, where we crowd the bed with details, a fire starts to smell like blueberries. Blueberries include the idea of porches, and shatter indifferently against chalk lines on sidewalks. The peop...
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