Disasterous shorthand
2006-06-08 - 10:48 p.m.

Tyrants came to the bookstore hoping to find a melded biscuit to query their beams of semen. A non-stop rampage of executionistic havoc and kleenex hoarding brought the lurking waistcoat into a fatal position with attractive goblets. In time, we all shook our panties by their rails and marched on to the salty spillings of a ruddy ankle. After a day of such noble excusions, and one extremely large Noble Guinnea Pig, they planted themselves into the gutters and rammed their glee into round rolls of twenty quills.

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