It wasn't a good fit. This calls for a rounding error and not one creepshot to please 'the Missus'. Why are the lower rungs so approachable when even Mary Richardson is steeling herself for a long drawn drag-out fight with the Fipperburg's baby person? It will not show you a free-style move, but, if you stop playing your cards right, my only sister, Velma Thorp, might exhibit a hankerin' to give it a go and be done with her non-entity status once-and-for-fucking-all! This I will tell you, young man, and not a moment too soon,.. because the one who stands with the briefest allowed wedding shift will still profit when all not-so-decent approximations of 'things' fail to meet a ladder on the high blood-count quotable trail-mix arrest pansy. What calls out my own face is one tiny thread or threat and the danger is not real, or as unconvincing as a polymath is able to arrange to make it, unless one of us is missing something all too essential to continue breathing what passes for air in this marginal neighborhood. When I tell my side of any type of account, my face starts to resemble a mottled frame and I am doomed to live out my days in an abyss of dignity and discharge. My own poly-unsaccaride count is approaching zero, but we, the Missus and me, are 'feeling no pain' with a lemon-teal covering, a fright wig, not a shout to encase the Bolton Muffin Shield purchased last winter, all but falling apart now,.. and I'll tell you what, the name which keeps coming up for us is 'Juanita Clermont'. She seems not-nice enough, though one will say, in a candid moment, that the stress is stress-free and all our moments ring with a management trainee's odor, but your whisp is flailing, a tail too grave and a lung-betty cannot spare the insight. Could you or the one after, not engage in a cooling manifesto or some similar? You, a bit more chipper than necessary, have apparently subscribed to the issue in Month 5, thereby avoiding any mention of the game to leak my positive test results. Or, if not, we will exhibit it in a solid way throughout the Summer of Pain at affordable prices wherever felt imitates a coffee rind, plastic over shadow, and the one we kill will always, or once in a tardy period, slap a whole lot of purses in our face for inspection. We have yet to schedule an announcement detailing the particulars of their fraud and deceit. White could never be a conversation starter after slate is picked for Final Option Four. But by now, any drill that could have ever been considered to have started, is but a few moments from complete depletion. It will still be a day when all is finished, too bold for a light jacket, but you may not, even now, release your splindly ass for inspection by our trusted partners. That's right, everyone just thought it was perfectly fine to refer, in a smirking fashion, to Pepper the Pelvis. (Please fill in the circle; since agreement is mandatory, we'll sweat this in pairs. Don't look less than three times).A semi-indecent assembly scar event seems to be carrying the day with our group and the tameness reflected in the circuit alliance stands to once again give comfort and (at least) seven partially shining cakes for our trouble. A back soaks just fine, but the fear is in an ovoid configuration (metaphorically speaking, please be assured), but just any old temple could be spared, if Tampu can be believed. Wake while a bone card is still able to carry the day, your hip may hold you to a meditation agreement and we are told, in confidence, that a rooting interest is a minimum requirement to hold one's own when a doubling of replies is the fantasy of the moment. The person of your former chauffer will be seen to enact a withered proxy-by-dental-protein banishment incision. The pull of it is so very lively, but all at once the dust lacks a name and a word we tried thinking of is blank. If so then you may have fallen for the very same trick again, this time with flap in hand, crease in forehead and a slim-to-none chance to bearing witness to how the game is 'really' played. The Third Father is known for intending to keep an antic of this sort within easy reach, as to the sold-out portion, you can have that too. But only when a calling could be made to float, in its own supported lerquid, again a film develops, night falls without a hitch. Repeat and follow with a foundering dumbth. The color operation merely a graded melée. We can/cannot promise one pale fellow will meet your plane with/without a scandalizing mood disorder. In fact, for a ring we've developed paler than the pattern it infects, the one see-through metric of note, a partial sighting delay or expectation of same, is par for the course. But only the tip which we treasure in our body-positive naiveté, is a grasping, ever beyond markups, in our nightmare profile ejecta. The first fire-code deceit: usually reserved for the all-but-nominally dead. We don't approach these gambits with anything approximating pleasure. I had read my manuals, flouted the approved guidelines, secured a divorce settlement, abandoned my pets at the airport, even scoured the greater Milwaukee metroplex for a germ decision unit, in short done everything in my power head off any possibilty of a diminution of my prerogatives at this critical juncture. The fear is palpable but waning. . The stiversity that was her former mode, now all but forgotten was to become, in the hands of a rational actor, just a pittance withheld on demand for peanuts or less. All to no avail however, because whichever way one pulls it, one solid fiber never fails, and this is the one we fought within, a regard for a state faction restored for the Mossbat Era, barely begun, now primarily a joke of one. No, it's more like a strategy option, we only fold when a brisk, tidy oval is (virtually) plunked forth, a suspicious calmness sets in and my personal box is set aflame, after dinner perhaps? Why? In what central corral are our feelings to be restricted for the benefit of a truly powerful segment of the remaining population at war with itself over trivial notions of their cause's correct interpretation? Our private naps would continue as before, only now with a soiled tone for contemplation and renewal. It hurts her but who's wilting with glee? . If you can imagine a dog's leg encased in amber (at a museum, say) then you have striven far enough in your efforts to earn the plaudits of the typically well turned-out young woman-about-town. A management trainee of my acquaintance has squandered her life savings in a polo pony breeding profile which looks to be the first radar-assisted back-end deployment magnet to make it out of beta before my second son tragically met his end in a bowling experiment gone even worse than 'bad'.
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Please don't force my hand.
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