This century with its daylight and affordable framework. Note peace signs engraved on circle logic. Tams practicing formidable heads while daylight fritters treason and swaying boat. Engined youth fart sports for the populace with romantic severance pay and appalling locals. The bias brand of traveling artlessly foments with vivid sparks. Comfy um union leaders idealize breakage. Fond frequencies found in paleontology OR doctors Of fish cabal circle fractious data as then spraying radial inklings at rampant speed. All this teaches random Bette by stray nuclear findings. Make an elite posture out of hay and grasses while ongoing moose in the forest gloom. Naturally this is today’s susurrance, forgetting umpteenth testament again.
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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