Come now say Mona St. Vitus dance or macabre they go, sword swinging lashing its hour of bacon. Merely the back out of the winding filly its worse scenario's cuss and whinny . She shout out her back at the back s.v.plait yer milk's sour.
She forgetting the cool wind of avalanche. The excellent sea-sipping tornado. This fool's been buried previously as anyone knows its outwitted canker. Is the dear blowzy or floozy to her mendicant sump? She's got a hearing aid round her in camera salty baker. Turn that knocking thing nob (her everyman jack's gone bandanna not banana ),her crunching varicose vein (very coarse! very close! Oh~ hush~)knows the knob is televisual screen.
------------------ Jill waking in a ditch as always. Not usual to her roused self she's bruised to her musty way. She's blinking beside horns of plenty, and her lips slaver. Yes, she slaver like any hopeless bitch.
Will wont work, she's had bloom blossom before and knowing the difference's made her itchier. Good morning dear fauna, yer plate is difference tied to chiaroscuro .
