Bird and chalice to meet Mrs. Alx Neas so sleeping together—it splendid—with a Hard Core surrentipiously current of Calamine of lotion, the lots of P. Ivy me to see it on my arm when I was young—oh and the itch—something something snitch in a ditch of Tony Soap ’n’ Roady benefected the breeding- Sis down-laden discussed the disgusting “Crowning” of out the pa-toot it’s aloof amounting to what wonders of such a plumber’s dollar-size, down-sized, dollars fine—I’m rich with $,$$$,$$$ in TD Bank, and my Dad — GREAT WAYNE — him to thank, and my Mom singing a song, “I love it! I love it!” in the car but not driving very far—all to preserve the liquid energy, a Menses a massed a miss—young and sweet, a kisses to the Missus and her Clause of bed-time giving gifts upon the twenty-fifth, toking and taking but what if—upon the lips in pairs, an on-stage or on-screen bellowed lack of CLOTHES—this when I know I want a fine dime in time for the SOBER 2016- so NO WINE, but feeling the come-straight on silly song of my Mom’s, mentioned above!
MOTHER DOVE!
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